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THE YARN OF AN OLD SAILOR ABOUT HIS EARLY 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES. 


By WILLIAM H. G. KINGSTON 


17 TO 27 Van DEWATER St 

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WILL WEATHERHELM. 


THE YARN OF AN OLD SAILOR ABOUT HIS 
EARLY LIFE AND ADVENTURES. 


✓ 

By WILLIAM H. G. KINGSTON. 

'n 



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WILLIAM H. G. KINGSTON'S WORKS 


CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION): 

NO. PRICE. 

117 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean .... 20 

133 Peter the Whaler . . . . . . . .10 

761 Will Weatherhelm 20 

763 The Midshipman, Marmaduke Merry . 


20 


PREFACE. 


f 


The favorable reception the early part of my old friend Will 
Weatherhelm’s adventures met with, has induced me to add a 
further and very considerable portion, derived from the same source 
as the first. 

It contains accounts of some of the most remarkable naval events 
which occurred during tiie early part of that great war when all the 
world was in arms against Old England, among which I may men- 
tion the masterly retreat of Vice-Admiral Cornwallis from an over- 
whelming French fleet, and the gallant action fought by Captain 
(afterward Sir Henry) Trollope in the “ Glatton,” a fifty-gun ship, 

. once an East Indiaman, with four French frigates — one of greater 
size than his own, and the same number of smaller vessels — when he 
compelled them, shattered and defeated, to seek for safety by flight. 
Many other equally interesting events are recorded in the narrative. 

From the large amount of fresh matter which I have introduced 
it must be looked upon as a new work rather than as a second 
edition. 

I desire to dedicate the present work, as I had the pleasure of 
doing the former, to my old friend Charles Gilbert Duncan, Esq., 
of Lerwick, a countryman of Will Weatherlielm, as true and kind- 
hearted an Islander as ever stepped: but as he is a man whose 
modesty is equal to his worth — for both of which qualities his 
countrymen and his fair countrywomen are especially known 
wherever they go — I before merely gave his initials, but I hope that 
he will now allow me to mention his name in full. 

He will, I am sure, recognize the scenes described in the history 
of my hero during fiiis visit to Shetland. And I must here advise 
those who have a few weeks to spare from their daily toils, before 
they wander away south, to go to that beautiful group of islands 
and judge of their correctness; and besides enjoying some most 
lovely and picturesque scenery, if they are as kindly welcomed as I 
was, they may well be content. All I have now to do is to bespeak 


VI 


PREFACE. 


the same reception for “Will Weatherhelm ’ ’ from those for whom it 
is my pride to write, as has been obtained by “ Peter the Whaler,” 
“Neil D’Arcy,” “The Three Midshipmen,” and several other 
voyagers and travelers who have placed their memoirs in my hands 
for publication. 


Wm. H. G. Kingston. 


London, 1879. 




* 




WILL WEATHERHELM 


CHAPTER I. 

My father’s land— Born at sea— My school life— Aunt Bretta— Spoiled by over- 
indulgence — Enticed to sea— The “ Kite ” schooner— Contrast of a vessel in 
port and a vessel at sea— My shipmates— My name fixed in more ways than * 
one— A gale— Repentance comes too late— Suspicious customers— A narrow 
escape— Naples and its Bay. 

My father, Eric Wetherholm, was a Shetlander. He was horn 
in the Isle of Unst, the most northern of those far-otf islands, the 
Shetlands. He loved his native land, though it might be said to be 
somewhat backward in point of civilization, though no trees are to 
be found in it much larger than gooseberry bushes, or cattle trigger 
than sheep; though its climate is moist and windy, and its winter 
days but of a few hours’ duration. But, in spite of these draw- 
backs, it possesses many points to love, many to remember. Wild 
and romantic, and, in some places, grand scenery, lofty and rocky 
precipices, sunny downs and steep hills, deep coves with clear 
water, in which the sea-trout can be seen swimming in shoals, and, 
better still, kind, honest, warm hearts, modest women with sweet 
smiles, and true, honest men. 

Ouce only in my youth was I there. I remember well on a bright 
summer’s day, standing on one of the highest of its lofty hills, 
sprinkled with thousands of beautiful wild-flowers, and, as I looked 
over the hundreds of isles and and islets of every variety of form, 
grouping round the mainland, as the largest island is called, I 
though! that in all my wanderings I had never seen a greener or 
more lovely spot floating on a surface of brighter blue; truly, 1 felt 
proud of the region which my poor father claimed as the place of 
his birth. I knew very little of his early history. Like the larger 
proportion of Shetland men, he followed the sea from his boyhood, 
and made several voyages, on board a whaler, to Baffin’s Bay. 
Once his ship had been nipped by the ice, whirled helplessly against 
an iceberg, when he alone with two companions escaped the de- 


8 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


struction -which overwhelmed her. Finally he returned home, and, 
sickened of voyages in icy regions, became mate of a merchantman 
trading out of the port of Hull round the English coast. On one 
occasion, his brig, having received severe damage in a heavy gale, 
put into Plymouth harbor to obtain repairs. He there met an old 
shipmate, John Trevelyn, who had given up the sea and settled 
with his family on shore. 

John had a daughter, Janet Trevelyn, and a sweet, good girl I 
am certain she must have been. Before the brig sailed my father 
obtained her promise to marry him. He shortly returned, when 
she became his wife, and accompanied him to Shetland. But the 
damp, cold climate of that northern land was a sore trial to her 
constitution, accustomed, as she had been, to the soft air of her 
native Devonshire, and she entreated that he would rather take her 
with him to sea than leave her there. Fortunately, as he con- 
sidered it, the owners of the brig he had served in offered him the 
command of .another of their vessels, and he was able to fulfill the 
wishes of his wife, as well as to please his own inclination, though 
for her sake he would rather have left her in safety on shore, for 
he too well knew all the dangers and hardships of the sea to desire 
to expose her to them. 

My father had very few surviving relatives. His mother and 
sister were the only two of whom I know. His father and tw r o 
brothers had been lost in the Greenland fishery, and several of his 
uncles and cousins had been scattered about in different parts of the 
world, never to return to their native islands. When, therefore, 
he found that Shetland would not suit my mother’s health, he tried 
to persuade my grandmother and Aunt Bretla to accompany him 
to Devonshire. After many doubts and misgivings as to how they 
could possibly live in that warm country far away to the south 
among a strange people, who could not understand a word of Erse, 
they at length, for love of him and his young wife, agreed to do as 
he wished. As soon as he was able he fetched them from Shetland 
to Hull, whence he conveyed them to Plymouth in his own vessel, 
and left them very comfortably settled in a little house of their owm 
in the outskirts of the town. Though small, it was neat and pleas- 
ant, and they soon got accustomed to the change, though they 
complained at first lhat the days in summer were very short com- 
pared to those in their own country. This was the year before I 
was born. My mother, though she had now a home where she 
could have remained, was so reconciled to a sea life, and so fond, I 
may say, of my* father, that she preferred living on board his vessel 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


9 


to the^enjoyment of all the comforts of the shore. On one memo- 
rable occasion, a new brig he commanded, called the “ Janet Trcv- 
elyn,” in compliment to my mother, was bound round from Hull to 
Cork harbor in Ireland, and was to have put into Plymouth to land 
her, seeing that she was not in a fit state to continue the voyage, 
when a heavy south-westerly gale came on, and the brig was driven 
up Channel again off the Isle of Wight. During its continuance, 
while the brig was pitching, bows under, with close-reefed topsails 
only on her, with a heavy sea running, the sky as black as pitch, 
the ocean a mass of foam, and with the wind howling and whistling 
as if eager to carry the masts out of her, I was born. My poor 
mother had a heavy time of it, and it was a mercy she did not die, 
But oftentimes delicate, fragile-looking women go through far 
more than apparently strong and robust persons. She had a fine 
spirit and patient temper, and what is more, she put a firm trust in 
One who is all-powerful to save those who have faith in Him, both 
for this life and for eternity. 

The brig was hove to, and though more than once she narrowly 
escaped being run down by ships coming up Channel, she finally 
reached Plymouth, and my mother and I were landed in safety. 
Thus I may say that I hare been at sea from my earliest days. Old 
Mrs. Wetherholm was delighted to receive my poor mother and me, 
and took the very fondest care of us, as did Aunt Bretta, while my 
father proceeded on his voyage. 

Soon after this I was christened under a name which may sound 
somewhat fine to southern ears, Willand Wetherholm; but, as will 
be seen, I did not very long retain it. 

My mother had another trial soon after this. My grandfather, 
John Trevelyn, who had for some time been ailing, died and left 
her without any relations that I ever heard of on his or her mother’s 
side of the house. Thus she became more than ever dependent on 
my father and his mother and sister. She had no cause to regret 
this, however, for kinder, gentler-hearted people never existed. 

Two years more passed away, and I throve and grew strong and 
fat, and what between grandmother, and mother, and aunt, ran a 
great chance of being spoiled. My father had been so frightened 
about my mother before, that he would never take her to sea again; 
but he often said that he would endeavor, when he had laid by a 
little more money, to give it up himself, and to come and live with 
her on shore. It is a dream of happiness in which many a poor 
sailor indulges, but how few are able to realize! He was expected 


10 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


round at Plymouth, on his way to the Mediterranean, but day after 
day passed and he did not arrive. My mother began to grow very 
anxious, so did my grandmother and aunt. A terrific gale had 
.been blowing for some days, when the Eddystone was nearly 
washed away, and fearful damage was done to shipping in various 
parts. 

At length the news reached them that the brig had put into Salt- 
combe range. It is a wild-looking yet land-locked harbor on the 
Devonshire coast. Black rocks rise sheer up out of the water on 
either side of the entrance, and give it a particularly melancholy 
and unattractive appearance. One of the owners had come round 
in the brig, but he had landed and taken a post-chaise back toward 
London. In the morning the brig ‘sailed, and by noon the gale was 
blowing with its fiercest violence. In vain my poor mother watched 
and waited for his return; from that time to the present neither my 
father nor any of his crew were again heard of. The brig with all 
hands must have foundered, or, as likely as not, been run down at 
no great distance from Plymouth itself. My mother, who had 
borne so bravely and uncomplainingly her own personal sufferings, 
sunk slowly but surely under this dispensation of Providence. She 
never found fault with the decrees of the Almighty, but the color 
fled from her cheeks, her figure grew thinner and thinner. Scarce 
a smile lighted up her countenance, even when she fondly played 
with me. Her complaint was incurable, it was that of a broken 
heart, and I was left an orphan. 

Most of my father’s property had gone to purchase a share in the 
brig, which had been most fatally uninsured, and thus an income 
remained barely sufficient for the support of my grandmother and 
aunt. They, poor things, took in work, and labored hard, night 
and day, that they might supply me with the food and clothhig 
they considered I required, and, when I grew older, to afford me 
such an education as they deemed suitable to the son of one holding 
the position my father had in life. Aunt Bretta taught me to read 
pretty well, and to write a little, and I was then sent to a day-school 
to pick up some knowledge of arithmetic and geography Small 
enough was the amount I gained of either, and whether it was 
owing to my teacher’s bad system or to my own stupidity I don’t 
know, but I do know that I very quickly lost all I gained,' and by 
the time I was twelve years old I was a strong, stout lad, with a 
large appetite and a very ill-stored head. 

Though I had not picked up much information at school I had 
some companions, and they were generally the wildest and least 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


11 


manageable of all the boys of my age and standing. The truth 
was, I am forced to confess, my grandmother and aunt had spoiled 
me. They could not find it in their hearts to deny me anything, 
and the consequence was that I generally got my own way whether 
it was a good or bad one. I should have been altogether ruined 
had they not set me a good example, and instilled into my mind 
the principles of religion. Often the lessons they taught me were 
forgotten, and years passed away, when some circumstance recalled 
them to my mind, and they brought forth a portion, if not all, of 
the fruits they desired. Still I grew up a wayward, headstrong 
boy. I heard some friends say that my heart was in its right place, 
and that I should never come to much harm, and that satisfied me; 
so I did pretty well what I liked without any qualms of conscience 
or fears for the consequences. 

. I am not going to describe any of my youthful pranks, because I 
suspect that no good will come from my doing so. If I did not 
reap all the evil consequences I deserved, others might fancy that 
they may do the same with like impunity and find themselves terri- 
bly mistaken. One of my chief associates was a boy of my own 
age, called Charles Iffley. His mother, like mine, was a Devon- 
shire woman, and his father was mate of a merchantman belonging 
to the port of Hull, but trading sometimes to Plymouth, and fre- 
quently to ports up the Straits of Gibraltar. Charley and I had 
many tastes in common. He was a bold dashing fellow, with 
plenty of pluck, and what those who disliked him called impu- 
dence. One thing no one could deny, that he was just the fellow 
to stand a friend at a pinch, and that, blow high or blow low, he 
was always the same — merry-hearted, open-handed, and kind. These 
qualities, however, valuable as they are, if not backed by right 
principle and true religion, too often in time of temptation have 
been known miserably to fail. On a half-holiday, or whenever we 
could get away from school, Charley and I used to steal down to the 
Harbor, and we generally managed to borrow a boat for a sail, or 
we induced one of our many acquaintances among the watermen 
to take us along with him to help him pull, so that we soon learned 
to handle an oar as well as any lads of our age, as also pretty fairly 
to sail a boat. When we returned home lale in an evening, and I 
went back to supper, my poor old grandmother would complain 
bitterly of the anxiety I had caused her, and when I saw her grief, I 
used to promise to amend, but I am sorry to say that when tempta- 
tion came iri my way I forgot my promise and repeated my fault. 

At length the schooner to which Charley’s father belonged came 


12 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


into Pymoutk harbor. I went on board with my friend, and he 
showed me all over her; I thought her a very fine vessel, and how 
much I should like to go to sea in her. The next day he appeared 
at our house in great glee, and told my grandmother and Aunt 
Bretta that he had come to wish them good-bye, that his father had 
bound him apprentice to the owners of the schooner, and that he 
was to go to sea in her that very voyage. I was sorry to part with 
him, and I could not help envying him for being able to start at 
once to see the world. When he was gone, I could talk of nothing 
else but of what Charley was going to see, and of what he was go- 
ing to do; and I never ceased trying to persuade my grandmother 
and aunt to let me go and be a sailor also. Poor things, I little 
thought of the grief I was causing them. 

“ Willand, my dear laddie, ye ken that your father, and your 
grandfather, and two uncles were all sailors, and were lost at sea — in- 
deed, I may well say that such has been the hard lot of all the males 
of our line— then why should ye wish without reason or necessity 
to go and do the same, and break your old grandmother’s heart, 
who loves ye far better than her own life’s blood,” said the kind old 
lady, taking me in her arms and pressing me to her bosom. “ Be 
content to stay at home, laddie, and make her happy.” 

" Oh, that ye will, Willand dear,” chimed in Aunt Bretta; 
“ we’ll get a wee shoppie for ye, and may be ye’ll become a great 
merchant, or we’ll just rent a croft up the country here, and ye 
shall keep cows, and sheep, and fowls, and ye shall plow, and 
sow, and reap, and be happy as the day is long. Won’t that be the 
best life for. Willand, grannie? It’s what he is just fitted for, and 
there isn’t another like it.” 

1 shook my head. All these pictures of rural felicity or of mer- 
cantile grandeur had no charms for m«. I had set my heart on 
being a rover, and seeing all parts of the world, and I believe that 
had I been offered a lucrative post under Government with nothing 
to do, 'without a moment’s hesitation I should have rejected it, lest 
it might have prevented me from carrying my project into execu- 
tion. Still for some time 1 did not like to say anything more on 
the subject, and the kind creatures began to hope that I had given 
up my wishes to their remonstrances. Had they from the first 
taught me the important lessons of self-denial and obedience, they 
might have found that I was willing to do so; but I had no idea of 
sacrificing my own wishes to those of others, and I still held firmly 
to my resolution of leaving home on the first opportunity. 

I was one day walking down High Street, Plymouth, when I saw 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


13 


advancing toward me a fine sailor-like-looking lad, with a well- 
bronzed jovial countenance. 

“ Why, Will, old boy, you don’t seem to know me?” he ex- 
claimed, stretching out his hand, which seemed as hard as Iron. 

“ Why, I scarcely did, Charley, till I heard your voice,” I an- 
swered, shaking him warmly by the hand. “ You’ve grown from 
a boy almost into a man. There’s nothing like the life of a sailor 
for hardening a fellow, and malting him fit for anything. I see 
that plainly.” 

“ Then come to sea with me at once,” he replied; “ I can get you 
a berth aboard our schooner, and we’ll have a merry life of it alto- 
gether, that we will.” 

I liked his confident and self-satisfied way of talking; but I said I 
was afraid I could not take advantage of his offer, though I would 
try and get leave from my grandmother. 

“ Leave from your grandmother!” he exclaimed with a taunting 
laugh; “ take French leave from the old lady. You are far better 
able to judge what you like than she is, and she can’t expect to tie 
you to her apron-strings all your life, can she?” 

“ No, but she is very kind and good to me, and I’m young yet 
to leave her and Aunt Bretta. Perhaps, when I am older, she will 
not object to my going away,” I replied. 

“ Pooh, pooh! feeds you with bread and milk, and lollipops; and 
as to being too young — why, you *are not much more than a year 
younger than I am, and fully as stout, and I should like to know 
who would venture to say that I am not fit to go to sea. I would 
soon show him which was the best man of the two.” 

These remarks, for I will not call them reasons, had a great effect 
on me. I thought Charley the finest fellow I had ever known, and 
I promised to be guided by him entirely. I did not consider how 
ungrateful and foolish I was. How could he really care about me, 
or know what was for my best interests? He only thought of 
pleasing himself by getting a companion whom he knew from ex- 
perience he could generally induce to do what he liked. I forgot 
all the love and affection, all the tender care I had received from 
my grandmother and aunt since my birth, and that I ought on every 
account to have consulted their feelings and opinions on the most 
important step I had hitherto taken in life. Instead of this, I made 
up my mind if they should say no, as Charley expressed it, to cut 
my stick and run. Many have done as I did, and bitterly repented 
their folly and ingratitude every day afterward to the end of their 
lives. It stands to reason that those who have brought us up and 


14 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


watched over us in helpless infancy or in sickness, instructed us 
and fitted us to enler on the active duties of life, must feel' far 
greater interest in our future welfare than can any other person. 
We, as boys, are deeply interested in a shrub or a tree we have 
planted, in a dog we have brought up from a puppy; and we may 
be certain that our parents or guardians are far more interested in 
our welfare, and therefore I repeat, do not go and follow my ex- 
ample, and run counter to their'advice and wishes. 

I spent the afternoon with Charley Iflley on board the “Kite” 
schooner, of which his father was mate. She was a fine craft, with 
a handsomely fitted up cabin. She had been a privateer in the last 
war, and si ill carried six brass guns on deck, which were bright and 
polished, and took my fancy amazingly. She had also a long ma- 
hogany tiller bound with brass, and with a handsomely carved head 
of a kite which I much admired. These things, trifles as they were, 
made me still more desire 1o belong to so dandy -looking a cralt. The 
captain was on shore, but Mr. Iffley, the mate, did the honors of the 
vessel, and talked largely of all her good qualities, and finally told 
me that for the sake of his son, who was my best friend, if I had a 
mind to go to sea, he would make interest to get me apprenticed to 
her owners. I did not exactly understand what that signified; but 
I thanked him very much, and said that I left the matter in his and 
his son’s hands. 

“ All right, Will, we’ll make a sailor of you before long!” ex- 
claimed Charley, clapping me on the back. 

Mr. Iffley was not a person, from his appearance, very well calcu- 
lated to win the confidence of a >oung lad. He was a stout, short 
man, with huge, red, carroty whiskers, and a pock-marked face, 
small ferretty eyes, a round knob for a nose, and thick lips, which 
he smacked loudly both when speaking and after eating and drink- 
ing. However, Charley seemed to hold him in a good deal of re- 
spect and awe, an honor my friend did not pay to many people. 
This I found was owing much to the liberal allowance of rope-end 
which the mate dealt out to his son whenever he neglected his duty 
or did anything else to displease him; but of course Master Charley 
did not confide this fact to me, but allowed me to discover it for 
myself. In the evening I wenl back to my grandmother’s. I 
wanted Charley to accompany me, but he said that he thought he 
had better keep out of the way, or out of sight. This I have since 
found the Tempter— that great enemy of man — always does when 
he can. He does his best to hide the hook with which he angles for 
souls, as well as to conceal himself; and we may justly be suspi- 


WILL WEATHF.KHELM. 


15 


cious of people who dare not come forward to explain their objects 
and intentions regarding us. Even in a worldly point of view, the 
caution I give is very necessary. It was not, however, till long, 
long after that I found all this out. I had not been seated at the 
tea-table many minutes before I opened the subject which lay near- 
est my hearl. My kind grandmother and Aunt Bretta used all the 
arguments they could think of to induce me to stay at home, and 
so powerful and reasonable did they seem, that had I not been 
ashamed of facing Charley and confessing that I was defeated, I 
should, at all events for the time, have yielded to their wishes. 
They pictured to me all the horrors of being shipwrecked and being 
cast on a barren island, or tossed about at sea on a raft, or having 
to live among savages, or being half starved or parched with thirst 
— indeed, they had little difficulty in finding subjects on which to 
enlarge. They also reminded me that, as I had no friends and no 
interest, if I went to sea they could do nothing for me, and that 
though Mr. Iftley might be a very kind man, he could not be ex- 
pected to care so much for me as he would for his own son, and 
perhaps I might have to remain before the mast all my life. All 
this I knew was very true, but I could not bear the idea of being 
laughed at by Charley and his father, and in my eagerness I swore 
vehemently that go to sea I would, in spite of everything they could 
say; and I declared that I didn’t mind though I. might be cast 
away a dozen times, or go wandering about the ocean and never 
come back — indeed, I scarcely know what wicked and foolish things 
I said on the occasion. 

My poor grandmother and aunt were dreadfully shocked at the 
way I had expressed myself. They had too much respect for an 
oath themselves, even though it was as rash as mine, to endeavor 
to make me break it, and with tears streaming down her face my 
grandmother told me that, if silch was my resolution, she had no 
longer the wish to oppose it. There was something very sad in 
her countenance, and the words trembled on her lips as she spoke, I 
remember. It was not so much, however, because of my wish to go 
to sea, as of my rank ingratitude and want of tenderness. 

“ Oh, Willand! ye dinna ken what harm ye have done, laddie,” 
said Aunt Bretta, as I parted from her to go to roost in my little 
attic room, which she had fitted up so neatly for my use. 

At first I was inclined to exult at having made the first step 
toward the accomplishment of my wishes, and I was thinking how 
proud I should be when I met Charley the next morning, to be able 
to tell him that I had triumphed over all difficulties and was ready 


16 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


to accept his offer; but then the recollection of what Aunt Bretta 
had said, and a consciousness of the nature of my own conduct , came 
over me, and I began to be sorry for what I had done. In the 
morning, however, before breakfast, Charley called for me, and 
when I t:»ld him that I had got leave to go, he said he would come 
in and comfort the poor women. This he did in a rough kind of 
way. He told them that we were going to make only a short sum- 
mer voyage — out to the Mediterranean and back; that if I liked it 
I might then be apprenticed, and if not, that I might come on shore; 
that I should have seen a little of the world, and that no great harm 
would be done. 

The matter once settled, no people could have exerted themselves 
more than did my two kind relatives to get me ready for sea. They 
knew exactly what was wanted, and in three or four days my entire 
kit was ready and stowed away in a small sea-chest, which had be- 
longed to some member of my family who had escaped drowning. 
It received no little commendation when it was hoisted up the 
side of the “ Kite.” 

“That’s what I like,” said Mr. Iffley; “ traps enough, and no 
more. It speaks w T ell for your womankind, and shows lhat you 
come of a sea-going race. ’ ’ 

I told him that I was born at sea, and that my father was drowned 
at sea. 

“ That’s better than being hung on shore,” he answered with a 
loud laugh; and I afterward found that such had been the fate of 
his father, who was a noted pirate, and that he himself had enjoyed 
the doubtful benefit of his instruction for some time. 

While we lay at Plymouth we received orders to call in at Fal- 
mouth, to carry a cargo of pilchards, which was ready for us, to 
Naples, in the south of Italy. The people in that country, being 
Roman Catholics and having to fast, eat a great quantity of salt 
fish. They have plenty of fish in their own waters, but they are so 
lazy that they will not be at the trouble of catching them in suffi- 
cient quantities to supply their wants. Falmouth was a great fish- 
ing place in those days, and full of vessels going to all parts of the 
world. There had been some heavy rain in the night, and as they 
lay with their sails loosed and the flags of all the civilized nations in 
the world flying from their peaks, I thought that I had never seen a 
more beautiful sight. 

Mi*. Tooke, our captain, was a very go^d sailor. He was a tall, 
fine man, with black hair and huge whiskers, like his mate’s, and a 
voice, when he liked, as loud as thunder — a quality on which he not 


WILL WEATHEBHELM. 


17 


a little prided himself. I thought when I went on board that I was 
to live in the cabin — and be treated like a young gentleman. 
Charley had not said anything about the matter, but he had showed 
me the state rooms, as they were called, and I had sat down in the 
cabin and taken a glass of wine with him there, so I took it for 
granted that I was to be a sort of midshipman on board. 

The first night, when the middle watch was set, and I began to 
grow very sleepy, I asked Charley in which of the cabins I should 
find my bed. He laughed, and told me to fallow him. I did so, 
and he slipped down a little hatchway forward, just stopping a 
minute, with his head and shoulders above the deck, to tell me that 
I must not be too squeamish or particular, and that I should soon 
get accustomed to the place to which he was going to take me. He 
then disappeared, and I went after him. I found myself in a dark 
hole, lighted by a very dim lantern, with shelves which are called 
standing bed-places, one above the other, allround it, and sea-chests 
lashed below. In the fore pait were two berths, rather darker and 
closer than the rest. 

“ That’s where you and I have to sleep, old boy,” said Charley. 
“ I. didn’t like it at first; but now I would just as soon sleep there 
as anywhere else. But, I say, don’t make any complaints; no one 
will pity you if you do, and you will only be laughed at for your 
pains.” 

I found that he was right with regard to my getting accustomed 
to the place, though sheets were unknown, and cleanliness or de- 
cency was but little attended to. Not only were the habits of many 
of the crew dirty, but their manners and ideas were bad, and their 
language most foul and obscene; cursing and swearing went on all 
day long, just as a thing of course. It might seem strange to 
some who don’t know much about human nature, that I, a lad de- 
cently brought up by good, religious people, and fairly educated, 
should have willingly submitted to live along with such people. At 
first I was startled — I won't say shocked — but then I thought it fine 
and manly, and socn got not only accustomed to hear such language, 
but to use it with perfect indifference myself. 

We are all of us more apt to learn what is bad than what is good. 
I have mentioned Captain Tooke and our first mate. We had a 
second mate, old Tom Cole by name. He was close upon sixty 
years of age. He had been at sea all his life, and had been master 
of more than one vessel, but lost them through drunkenness, till he 
got such a name that no owners would intrust him with the com- 
mand of another. He was a good seaman and a fair navigator, and 


18 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


when he was sober there w r asn’t a better man in the ship. He had 
been to sea as first mate, but lost the berth through his besetting 
sin. I believe Captain Tooke engaged him from having known him 
when he himself was a young man, and from believing that he could 
keep him sober. He succeeded pretty well, but not always; and 
more than once, in consequence of old Cole’s neglect of his duty, 
we very nearly lost our lives, as many lives have been lost before 
1 and since. The two mates messed with the captain, but the ap- 
prentices lived entirely With the men forward. Besides Charles 
Iffley, there was another, Jacob La Motte, a Guernsey lad. He 
was a far more quiet and steady fellow than either of us. In my 
wiser moments 1 learned to like him better than IfHey; and perhaps 
because I was better educated than most of the men, and, except 
when led away by bad example, more inclined to be rational, he as- 
sociated more with me than with them. The best educated and the 
most steady amOng the hands forward was a young man, Edward 
Seton. He was very well-mannered and neat in his person, and I 
never heard him giving way to profane swearing or any other gross 
conduct, and he tried, but in vain, to check those who indulged 
in it. 

I had not been long at sea, though time enough to have any pride 
I might have possessed knocked out of me, when I was accosted by 
old Ned Toggles, one of the roughest of the rough hands on board, 
and generally considered the wit of the crew, with, “ And what’s 
your name, youngster? Did any one ever think it worth while to 
give one to such a shrimp as you?” 

“Yes,” said I, firing up a little; “I should have thought you 
knew it by this time. ” 

“ Know it! How should I know whether your name is Jack or 
Tom, or Bill? Any one on ’em is too good for you, I should think, 
to look at you,” remarked old Toggles, with a grin and a wink at 
his companions. 

“ Thank you for nothing,” said I, feeling very indignant at the 
gratuitous insult, as I considered it, thus offered to me. ‘ ‘ If you 
want to know my name, I’ll tell it you. It is Willand Weather- 
holm.” The last words I uttered with no little emphasis, wiiile I 
looked at my shipmates as much as to say, “ There! I should like 
to know who has got as good a name as that!” 1 saw a grin on the 
countenance of old Toggles as I spoke. 

“ Will Weatlierhelm!” he ejaculated. “A capital name, lad. 
Hurrah for Will Weatherhelm. Remember, Will Weatlierhelm is to 
be your name to the end of your days. Come, no nonsense, w r e’ll 


WILL WEATHERHELM:. 


19 


mark it into you, my boy. Come, give us your arm.” What he 
meant by this I could not tell; but after a little resistance, I found 
that I must give in. “ Come’s it’s our watch below, and we have 
plenty of time 1o spare; we’ll set about it at once,” said he, taking 
my arm and baring it up to the elbow. One of the other men then 
held me while Toggles procured a sharp needle, stuck in a handle 
and began puncturing the thick part of my arm between the elbow 
and wrist. The operation cost me some little pain; but there was 
no use crying out, so I bore it patiently. When he had done he 
brought some powdered charcoal or gunpowder, and rubbed it thor- 
oughly over the arm. “There, my lad,” said he, “ don’t go and 
wash it off, unless you want a good rope’s-ending, and you’ll see 
what will come of it.” 

I waited patiently as I was bid, though my arm smarted not a lit- 
tle, and in three days Toggles told me I might wash as much as I 
liked. I did wash, and there I found on my arm, indelibly 
marked, my new name, Will Weatherhelm! * and at sea, wher- 
ever I have been, it has ever since stuck to me. 

If one of my old shipmates were to be asked if he knew Willand 
Wetherliolm, he would certainly say, “ No; never heard of such a 
man.” “But don’t you remember Will Weatherhelm?” “I 
should think so, my boy,” would be his reply, and I hope he would 
say something in my favor. 

We had a quick run to the southward till we were somewhere off 
the latitude of Lisbon, when a gale sprung up from the eastward 
which drove us off the land, and not only carried every stitch of 
canvas clear of the bolt-ropes, but very nearly took the masts out 
of the vessel. It was my watch below when the gale came on, and 
I was awoke by the terrific blows which the schooner received on 
her bows; and what with the darkness and the confusion caused by 
the noise of the sea and the rattling of the blocks aloft, the stamp 
of feet overhead, and the creaking of the bulkheads, I fully believed 
the ship was going down, and that my last moment had come. I 
1 bought of my poor old grandmother’s warnings, and I would have 


* Weatherhelm is a sea term. A vessel, when not in perfect trim and too 
light aft, has a tendency, when on a wind, to luff of her own accord, or to fly 
up into the wind. To counteract this tendency it is necessary to keep the helm 
a-weather, and she is then said to carry a weather helm. It is not surprising, 
therefore, that Toggles should at once catch at my name and turn it into one 
which is so familiar to a seaman’s ear. Indeed, to this day I have of oen to stop 
and consider which is my proper name, and certainly could not avoid answer- 
ing to that of Will Weatherhelm. 


20 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


given anything if I could have recalled my oath and found myself 
once more safe by her side. “ All hands shorten sail!” soon sounded 
in my ears. I slipped into my clothes in a moment, and hastened 
on deck. The sky overhead was as black as pitch, and looked as 
if it was coming down to crush the vessel between it and the ocean, 
and every now and then vivid flashes of lightning darted forth from 
it, playing round the rigging and showing the huge black seas as 
they came rolling up like walls capped with while foaming tops, 
with a loud rushing roar, as if they were about to overwhelm us. 
A rope-end applied to my back made me start, and I heard the voice of 
old Cole, saying, “ Hillo, youngster, what are you dreaming about? 
Up aloft there, and help furl the topsails.” Aloft I went, though I 
thought every moment that I should be blown away or shaken from 
the shrouds; and when I got on the yards, I had to hold with my 
teeth and eyelids, as the saying is, and very little use I suspect I 
was of. Still the sails, or rather what remained of them, were 
furled, and I had been aloft in a gale. I very soon learned to think 
nothing of it. 

We were many days regaining our lost ground, and it was three 
weeks after leaving Falmouth before we sighted the Rock of Gib- 
raltar. We did not stop there, but the wind being then fair, ran 
on through the Gut toward our destination. Inside the straits, we 
had light and battling winds, and found ourselves drifted over to the 
African shore, not far from the Riff Coast. We kept a sharp look* 
out and had our guns ready shotted, for the gentry thereabouts 
have a trick of coming off in their fast-pulling boats if they see an 
unarmed merchantman becalmed; and, as a spider does a fly caught 
in his web, carrying her off and destroying her. They are very ex- 
peditious in their proceedings. They either cut the throats of the 
crew or sell them into slavery, carry all the cargo, and rigging, and 
stores on shore, and burn the hull, that no trace of their prize may 
remain. Charley told me this; but we agreed, as we were well 
armed, if they came off to us, they might find that they had caught 
a Tartar. 

The captain and mates had their glasses constantly turned toward 
the shore. The sun was already sinking toward the west, when I 
heard the captain exclaim. " Here they come! Now, my lads, let’s 
see what you are made of.” We all, on this, gave a loud cheer, 
and I could see six or eight dark specks just stealing out clear of 
the land. Charley and I were in high glee at the near prospect of 
a skirmish, for we both of us had a great fancy for smelling gun- 
powder. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


21 


Old Cole heard us boasting of what we would do. “ Just wait, 
my boys, till you see some hundreds of those ugly blackamoors, 
with their long pikes, poking away at you, and climbing up the side 
of the schooner, and you will have reason to change your tone, I 
suspect,” said he, as he turned on his heel away from us. 

“ Here comes a breeze off the land!” exclaimed Mr. Iffley; “ we 
may wish the blackguards good-bye before they come up with us.” 
The breeze came and sent us a few fathoms through the water, and 
then died away and left the sails flapping as before idly against the 
masts, while at the same time the row-boats came nearer and nearer. 
The captain walked the deck with his glass under his arm, every 
now and then giving a glance at the approaching boats, and then 
holding up his hand to ascertain if the breeze was coming back 
again. Once more the sails filled, and his countenance brightened. 
Stronger and stronger came the breeze. The schooner felt its force, 
and now began to rush gayly through the water. ‘‘Hurrah! she 
walks along briskly!” he exclaimed, looking over the side. “We 
may wish the gentlemen in the boats good-evening.” 

I was surprised to find the captain so glad to get away from the 
pirates. I thought it was somewhat cowardly of him, and that he 
would rather have stopped and fought them. Charley laughed 
when I told him this. ‘ ‘ He is as brave a man as ever stepped, ” he 
answered. “ He has his own business to attend to, and that is to 
carry his cargo to the port we are bound for. What good would he 
have got had he fought the pirates, even though he had knocked 
them 1o pieces?” 

The breeze continuing, and darkness coming on, we very soon 
lost sight of the boats. It was nearly a fortnight after this that we 
made the coast of Sicily, and saw Mount Etna towering up with a 
flaming top into the clouds. We stood on toward the Bay of Naples. 
A bright mist hung over the land as we approached it soon after 
sunrise, like a veil of gauze, but still thick enough entirely to con- 
ceal all objects from our view. Suddenly, as if obeying the com- 
mand of an enchanter’s wand, it lifted slowly before us and revealed 
a scene more beautiful than any I ev^r expected to behold. On 
the right was the bright green island of Capria, with Sorrento and 
its ruined columns beyond it. Before us was the gay white city of 
Naples, with its castles and moles below rising upward out of the 
blue sparkling waters on the side of a hill, amid orange groves and 
vineyards, and crowned at its summit by a frowning fortress, while 
on the left was the wildly picturesque island of Procida and the 
promontory of Baiae, every spot of which was full of classic associ- 


22 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


ations, which, however, the little knowledge 1 had picked up was 
scarcely sufficient to enable me to appreciate, and in which even 
now, I must own, I could not take the interest they deserve. Still 
the beauty of the scene fixed itself on my memory never to be eradi- 
cated. 


CHAPTER II. . 

Greek pirates— A suspicious stranger— My first fight— Desperate encounter— 
Our fate sealed— The sinking vessel— The mate’s death— We secure a boat— 
Down she goes— Our perilous voyage— Loss of another shipmate— Death of 
Edward Seton— My promise— A strong breeze— A gale springs up— A heavy 
sea. 

Having discharged our cargo at Naples, the captain, finding that 
we could get no freight home from thence at the time, determined 
to go to Smyrna, where he knew that he could obtain one of dried 
fruit, figs, currants, and raisins. We spent ten days there, and on 
our homeward voyage, keeping somewhat to the northward of our 
course, got among the islands of the Greek Archipelago. At that 
time a great many of the petty Greek chiefs, driven by the Turks 
from their hereditary domains, had established themselves on any 
rocky island they could find, with as many followers as they could 
collect, and nothing loath, used to carry on the respectable avocation 
of pirates. Some possessed only lateen-rigged craft, or open boats, 
but others owned fine large vessels, ships and brigs, strongly armed 
and manned. Though they attacked any Turkish vessels wherever 
they could find them, they were in no respect particular, if com- 
pelled by necessity to look out for other prey, and the merchant- 
men of any civilized nation which came in their way had but a 
small chance of escape. 

I observed some little anxiety on the countenances of the officers, 
and a more careful watch than usual was kept on board at night, 
while in the day-time the captain or first mate was constantly aloft, 
and more than once the course was changed to avoid a strange sail. 
The winds were light and baffling, so that we were detained among 
the islands for some time. At last we got a fair breeze from the 
northward, though it was light, and we were congratulating our- 
selves that we should have a quick run to the westward. We had 
been standing on for a couple of hours or so, when I saw the master 
and mates looking out anxiously ahead. I asked Charley Iffley 
what it was they saw. 

“ An ugly-looking big brig, which has a cut they don’t like about 


WILL WEA.THERHELM. 


23 


her,” was the answer. “ When we were out here the last time, we 
sighted just such another chap. A hundred or more cut-throat- 
looking fellows were dancing on her decks, and we had every ex- 
pectation that they would lay us aboard, w T hen a man-of-war hove 
in sight, and she prudently cut her stick. The man-of-war made 
chase, but a Thames barge might as well have tried to catch a 
wherry. The pirate was out of sight in no time. ” 

But if this stranger should prove to be a gentleman of the same 
profession, what shall we do, Charley?” I asked. 

“ Run away if we can, and fight him if he comes up with us,” 
he replied. 

I thought he did not seem quite so anxious about fighting as he 
had been when we were off the Riff coast . Indeed, from what I 
could learn, should the vessel in sight prove to be a Greek pirate, 
we might find a struggle with her no joking matter. That she was 
so I found the captain and officers entertained not the slightest 
doubt. The schooner was brought on a wind and stood away to 
the southward, but the brig immediately afterward changed her 
course for the same direction. The captain on this called the crew 
aft, and told us that he intended to try and make his escape, but 
that, if he did not succeed, we must fight for our lives, for, if over- 
come, we should all have our throats cut. Charley and I and La 
Motte gave a shrill cheer, in which we were joined by two or three 
of the other men, but the old hands merely growled out, “ Never 
fear; no man wants to get his throat cut, so we’ll fight.” I was 
surprised at their want of enthusiasm; but when men have been 
much knocked about in the world, and have all their finer feelings 
blunted, that, among other sentiments, is completely battered out 
ol them. 

When Captain Tooke saw the brig change her course he hauled 
the schooner close on a wind, but the brig instantly hauled her 
wind also, and we very soon saw that she was rapidly overhauling 
us. The truth is, that the English merchantmen of those day were 
mere tubs compared to those of foreign nations; and even the 
“ Kite,” though a fast vessel of her class, was veiy inferior to the 
craft of the present day of the same rig. Thus we saw that there 
was little chance of escaping a fight should the stranger prove to be 
a pirate, unless a man-of-war or large merchantman, able to help 
us, might heave in sight. 

While we were trying the speed of our heels, every possible 
preparation was made for fighting; boarding nettings were triced 
up; our two guns were carefully loaded; the small-arms were got 


26 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


went off into a swoon, for when I again looked up, the pirates had 
left the vessel, and I could see the topsails of their krig, just as they 
were sheering off. My first impulse was that of joy to think that I 
was saved. I tried to rise, and fancied that I might have strength 
sufficient to do so; but then I thought it better to be perfectly still, 
lest the pirates should see me moving about, and take it into their 
heads to fire and perhaps finish me. My feelings were very dread- 
ful. I knew not how many of my companions might, have escaped. 
Perhaps I might be soon the only survivor left alone on the shat- 
tered wreck, for the groans of my companions still alive showed 
that they were desperately wounded; or perhaps my doom was 
already fixed, and my hours were drawing to a close. I could 
scarcely bear to hear those sounds of pain, yet I dared not move to 
render assistance. I waited for some time, and then I slowly 
turned round my head, and ventured to look if the vessel could be 
seen from where I lay. She was not visible, so I crawled to a port 
through which I could see her about a mile off, standing away to 
the eastward. I now felt that, provided no one showed their heads 
above the bulwarks, we should be safe. A cask of water stood on 
the deck for daily use. I crawled to it, and swallowed some of the 
precious fluid, which much revived me. I never tasted a more de- 
licious draught in my life. I took the tin cup, and crawled to the 
nearest person who appeared to be alive. It was the captain. He 
was groaning heavily, '‘Here's a cup of water, sir,” I said; “it 
will do you good. The pirates are off, and I do not think they are 
coming back again.” 

At first he did not seem to understand me; then he took the mug 
of water, and drained it to the bottom. 

“ What, gone, are they?” he at length exclaimed. “ Ah, lad, is 
that you? Well, what has happened? Oh! I know. Help me up, 
and we’ll see about it.” 

I did my best, hurt as I was, to raise him up. In a short time he 
very much recovered. Both he and I, it appeared, had been knocked 
over by the wind of a round shot, and had been rather stunned 
than seriously hurt. 

The captain, as he lay on the deck, bound up my wound for me 
with a kindness I did not expect from him. As soon as he was 
somewhat recovered he told me to come with him and examine into 
the state of affairs. Many of the crew lay stiff and stark on deck — 
their last fight over. We carried the water to the few who re- 
mained alive, and very grateful they were for it. Among the killed 
was the first mate; but poor Charley I did not see. I observed an- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


27 


other man moving forward. I crawled up to him. He was Ed- 
ward Seton. I gave him the mug of water. He thanked me grate- 
fully. 

“ I’m afraid that I am in a bad way, Weatherhelm,” said he; 
“ but see what you can do for me, and I’ll try and get about and 
help the captain; tell him.” 

Under his directions I bound up his wounds as well as I could, 
and in a little time he began to crawl about, though it seemed to 
give him great pain to do so. On looking into the hold we found 
that several men were there. The captain hailed them, and gave 
the welcome news that the pirate was off, and that they might 
venture on deck. As soon as they heard his voice they sprung up, 
but looks of horror were on their countenances. 

“ It’s all over with us, sir,” said they. “ The villains have bored 
holes in the ship’s bottom, and the water is rushing in by buckets- 
ful.” 

I accompanied the captain below. Unhappily he found that what 
they said was too true, and at the first appearance of things it 
looked as if the schooner could not swim another half hour. On 
further examination, however, it appeared that, whatever might 
have been Ihe intention of the villains, they had not bored holes 
very cleverly. Some of them were through the timbers, and others 
were even above the water-line, and they had providentially been 
prevented from finishing their work by breaking their auger, the 
iron of which was sticking in one of the timbers. When this had 
occurred they made the attempt to knock a hole through the ship’s 
side; but they had found the ribs and planking too strong for their 
axes, and had been compelled to desist before accomplishing their 
purpose. They had, however, effectually destroyed the pumps — a 
few strokes of their axes had done that — so that we had little hope 
of freeing the vessel of water, as it would take long to repair them. 
Why the} r did not set her on fire I do not know. Perhaps because 
they were afraid that the blaze might attract the attention of any 
ship of war which might be in the neighborhood, and bring her 
down upon them. At all events, they refrained from no tender 
feeling of love or mercy for us. 

“Don’t give in, my lads,” cried the captain, after he had ex- 
amined the state of affairs. “ All who can manage to move, come 
with me; we may still have a chance of saving our lives. See if 
any of you can find an ax and wood to make plugs to drive into 
these holes. ’ ’ 

The pirates had of course intended to heave overboard everything 


28 


WILL* WEATHERHELM. 


of the sort; but fortunately, without loss of time, a hatchet was 
found under the windlass forward, where one of the men recol- 
lected he had left it, after chopping wood for firing, and another 
discovered an ax in the carpenter’s store-room, under a number of 
things which had been routed out of the chests by the pirates in 
their search for money. With these two tools we set to work, and 
as soon as a plug was cut we drove it into such of the holes as let in 
the greatest quantity of water. There was no difficulty in finding 
them, for the water spouted up in jets in all directions in the hold. 

It must be understood that what was already inside had not yet 
got to a level with the sea. Indeed, if it had, we should very soon 
have gone down. We succeeded in stopping the greater number, 
but unfortunately two or three had been bored low down, and some 
of the cargo having washed over them, we could not contrive to 
reach the places to plug them. I guessed, when the fact was dis- 
covered, that all hopes of ultimately saving the vessel must be 
greatly diminished, though what we had done would enable her to 
float for some time longer. 

I have before been prevented mentioning anything respecting 
these of my shipmates who had escaped with their lives. The first 
person I saw below was old Cole. He was unhurt, and seemed to 
take matters as coolly and quietly as if they were of ordinary oc- 
currence. He had, as I afterward discovered, directly he saw the 
pirate brig running us aboard, gone below and stowed himself 
away. I ventured 1o ask him, on a subsequent occasion, how it 
was that he had not remained on deck and fought on like the rest. 
“ Why, I will tell you, Will,” said he; “ I have found out, by a 
pretty long experience, that if I don’ t take care of number one, no one 
else will; so, when I saw that nothing more could be done to beat 
off the pirates, I thought to myself, there’s no use getting killed for 
nothing, so I’ll just keep in hiding till I see how things go.” La 
Motte, the Guernsey lad, was unhurt, but we picked up poor Char- 
ley Iffley with an ugly knock on his head, which had stunned him. 
He didn’t know that his father v/as killed. We let him perfeclly 
recover before we told him. I wished to have kept back the 
knowledge of this fact from him, but of course as soon as he came 
on deck he could not fail to discover it, so La Motte and I broke it 
to him gently. I was somewhat shocked to find how little effect it 
had on him. 

“ What, father dead, is lie? Well, what am I to do then, I won- 
der?” was his unfeeling observation. 

“ And this is the person whom I thought so fine a fellow, and by 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


29 


whom I was guided rather than by those who loved me best in the 
world,’ ' I thought to myself. Still, I could not help feeling com- 
passion for my friend, and I believe he really did feel his father’s 
loss more than his words would hare led me to suppose. 

Having done what he could below the captain called us all on 
deck to examine into the state of the boats, and to see if any of 
them were fit to carry us to the nearest shore. A glance showed us 
their condition. The spars which had fallen from aloft, and the 
shot of the enemy, had done them no little damage, and the villain- 
ous pirates, before leaving us, had stove in their sides and hove the 
oars overboard, to prevent any of us who might survive from mak- 
ing use of them. I felt my heart sink within me when I saw this, 
but none of us gave way to despair. It is not the habit of British 
seamen, while a spark of life remains in them, to do so. The long- 
boat was in the best condition, but with our yards gone we could 
not hoist her out, even had we had all the crew fit for the work, so 
that we were obliged to content ourselves with trying to patch up 
the jolly-boat, which w T e might launch over the side. 

The carpenter was among the killed, so that had the pirates left 
us all his tools, we could not have repaired the boat properly, and 
the captain therefore ordered us to set to work to cover her over 
with tarred canvas, and to strengthen her with a framework inside. 
Thus prepared there were some hopes that she might be able to float 
us, provided the weather did not grow worse. 

While the captain and old Cole, with the more experienced hands, 
were patching up the boat, he sent La Motte and me to try and find 
a spy-glass in the cabin. After some search we discovered one and 
took it to him. He watched the pirate brig through it attentively. 

“ Hurrah, my lads, she’ll not come back!” he exclaimed. “ She’s 
standing under all sail to the eastward, and soon will be hull 
down.” This announcement gave us all additional spirits to pro- 
ceed with our work. La Motte and I were next sent to get up some 
mattresses from below on which to put the wounded men; we also 
bound up their hurts as well as we could, and kept handing them 
round water, for they seemed to suffer more from thirst than any- 
thing else. 

My own wound hurt me a good deal, but while I was actively 
employed for the good of others, I scarcely thought about it. I 
found that much progress was being made with the boat. There 
was plenty of canvas, and a cask of Hockholm tar was found. After 
paying both the boat and a piece of canvas sufficiently large to cover 
her over with the tar, the canvas was passed under her keel and 


30 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


fastened inside the gunwale on either side. It went, of course, 
from stem to stern, and the thickly tarred folds nailed over the bows 
served somewhat to strengthen them. In our researches La Motte 
and I had found a hammer and a pair of pincers, which were very 
useful, as they enabled us to draw out the nails from the other boat 
with which to fasten on the canvas. As the boat would require 
much strengthening inside, a framework of some small spars we 
had on board was made to go right round the gunwale, from which 
other pieces were nailed down to the seats, and two athwart, inside 
the gunwale, to prevent her upper works from being pressed in. 
Besides this, some planks were torn from the long-boat, and with 
them a weather-streak was made 1o go around the jolly boat, and 
this made her better able to contend with a heavy sea. When we had 
performed our first task the captain sent us with the second mate 
to get up such provisions and stores as we might require, with some 
small beakers to fill with water. He then came himself to judge 
how fast the water was gaining on us, and seeing that the schooner 
would swim some time longer, he had another thick coat of tar put 
on, and an additional coat of canvas nailed over the boat. It was 
lucky this was done, for as the tar had not time to sink into the 
canvas, I do not think the first would for any length of time have 
kept the water out. We had still much to do, for we had neither 
oars, spars, nor sails fitted for the boat. In half an hour more, 
however, we had fashioned two pairs of oars, in a very rough way 
certainly, but such as would serve in smooth water well enough. 
We had stepped two masts and fitted two lugs and a jib. Fortu- 
nately the rudder had not been injured, so that we were saved the 
trouble of making one. I felt my heart somewhat lighter when the 
work was finished, and we were able to launch the boat over the 
side where the bulwarks had been knocked away when the enemy 
ran us aboard. She swam well, and we at once began putting what 
we required into her. The pirates had carried off all the com- 
passes they could find, but the captain had a small spare one in a 
locker which had not been broken open, and this he now got out, 
with a chart and a quadrant they had also overlooked. Thus we 
might contrast our condition very favorably with that of many poor 
fellows, who have been compelled 1o leave their sinking ships in the 
mid Atlantic or Pacific hundreds of miles from any known coast, 
without chart or compass, and with a scant supply of water and 
provisions. 

We had no difficulty in stowing water and provisions for the 
remnant of the crew to last us till we could reach Zante or Cepha- 


WILL WEATHLRHELM. 


31 


Ionia, or some part of the Grecian coast; for that, I heard the cap- 
tain say, would be the best direction to steer. We first put the 
wounded who could not help themselves into the boat, and the rest 
were following, when the captain stopped us. 

“Stay, my lads,” said he. “ The schooner will float for some 
time longer, and we must not leave the bodies of our poor shipmates 
aboard her to be eaten by the fish with as little concern as if they 
were animals.” 

“All right, sir,” answered the men, evidently pleased. “We 
wouldn’t wish to do so either, sir, but we thought you were in a 
hurry to be off. ’ ’ 

We set to work at once, for all hands knew what he meant, and 
we sewed each of the bodies up in canvas, with shot at their feet. 

“ Can anybody say any prayers?” asked the captain. 

No one answered. Of all the crew, no one had a prayer-book, 
nor was a Bible to be found. I had one, I knew, which had been 
put into my chest by my grandmother, but I was ashamed 1o say it 
was there, and I had not once looked at it since I came to sea. 
Edward Seton, however, who had been put into the boat, heard the 
question. “I have a prayer-book, sir,” he said. “ If I may be 
hoisted on deck, I will read the funeral service.” The captain ac- 
cepted his offer. He was taken out of the boat and propped up on 
a mattress. He read the Church of England burial-service with a 
fallering voice (he himself looking like death itself) over the bodies 
of those whom it appeared too probable that he would shortly fol- 
low. 

It might, perhaps, have been more a superstitious than a religious 
feeling which induced my rough, uneducated shipmates to attend 
to the service, but it seemed to afford them satisfaction, and it may, 
perhaps, at all events, have done some of us good. Then the poor 
fellows were launched overboard, with a sigh for their loss, for they 
were brave fellows, and died fighting like British seamen. Charley 
stood by while his father’s body was committed to the deep, and he 
cried very heartily, as if he really felt his loss. Then, slowly, one 
after the other of us went into the boat. The captain was the last 
to quit the schooner. For some time we held on The captain 
evidently could not bring himself to give the order to cast off — in- 
deed, it was possible that the vessel might still float for some time 
longer; still it is difficult to say when a waler-logged vessel may go 
down. Had we hung on during the dark, we might have been 
taken by surprise, and not have been able to get clear in time. I 
heard the captain propose to Mr. Cole to set her on fire, in the hopes 


32 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


that the blaze might bring some vessel down to our relief; but I 
suspect that he had not the heart to do it. At last, as night was 
coming on, he gave the order, “ Cast off.” I suspect he never gave 
a more unwilling one. Not another word did he say, but he gave 
a last lingering look at the craft he had so long commanded, and 
then turned away his head. 

Our lugs were hoisted, for the wind had come round to the south- 
ward, and away we stood for Ceplialonia. It was a beautiful night, 
the sea was smooth and the wind was light— indeed, we would 
rather have had more of it— the stars came brightly out of the clear 
sky, and there was every appearance of fine weather. There seemed 
no reason to doubt that all would go well, if the wind did not again 
get up; and, as we had just had a strong blow, there was a prospect 
of its continuing calm till we got to our destination. The night 
passed away pretty well— all hands slept by turns, and for my own 
part, I could have slept right through it, had it not been that the 
groans of one of my companions, who lay close to me, sounded in 
my ears and awoke me. I sat up and recognized the voice of poor 
Edward Set on. La Motte and I, who were closest to him, did all 
we could to assuage his pain. We bathed his wounds and supplied 
him with drink, but his tortures increased till toward the morning, 
when on a sudden he said that he felt more easy. At first, I fancied 
that all was going right with him; but soon the little strength he 
had began to fail, and as the sun rose, and fell on his pale cheeks, 
I saw that the mark of death was already there. I spoke to him 
and asked him what I could do for him. He was perfectly con- 
scious of his approaching death. 

“ You have dime all you could for me, Will, he answered, in a 
low faint voice, not audible to the rest. “It is all over with me in 
this world. .1 am glad that you are near me, for you think more as 
I do, and you know better what is right than the rest of our ship- 
mates; but, Weatherhelm, let a dying man warn you, as you know 
better than others what is right, so are your responsibilities greater, 
and thus more will be demanded of you by the Great Judge before 
whom I am about to stand, and you will have to stand ere long. 
Oh! do not forget what I have said. And now I would ask a favor 
for myself. I have a mother living near Hull, and one I love still 
better, a sweet young girl I was to have married. Find out my 
mother — she will send for her — see them both — tell them how I died 
— how I was doing my duty faithfully as a seaman, and how I 
thought of them to the last.” 

“ Yes, yes,” I answered, “ I’ll do my best to fulfill your wishes.” 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


33 


I took his hand and pressed it. A fearful change came over his 
countenance, and he was a corpse. I hoped to be able to keep my 
promise, for often the only satisfaction a dying seaman has, is to 
know that his shipmates will faithfully carry his last messages to 
those he loves best on earth. The body was dragged forward into 
the bow of the boat, for, rough as were the survivors, all esteemed 
Edward Seton, and no one liked to propose without necessity to 
throw his remain overboard before they were cold. 

At noon the captain took an observation, and found that since 
leaving the schooner the previous evening we had run about forty 
miles, which showed that we had been going little more than two 
and a half knots an hour — for the wind had been very light all the 
time. Still we were far better off than if it had been blowing a gale. 
As, however, the day drew on, clouds began to collect in the hori- 
zon, forming heavy banks which grew darker and darker every in- 
stant. I saw the captain and mate looking at them anxiously. 

“ We are going to have another blow before long,” observed Mr. 
Cole. 4 ‘ If we could have got under the lee of some land before it 
came on, it would have been better for us.” 

“No doubt about that, Mr. Cole; but as we have no land near 
us, if the gale catches us we must weather it out as men best can,” 
answered the captain. 

The mate was unfortunately right, and somewhere about the end 
of the afternoon watch a strong breeze sprung up from the south- 
ward, which soon caused a good deal of sea. The boat was hauled 
close to the wind on the larboard tack, but she scarcely looked up to 
her course, besides -making much lee- way. She proved, however, 
more seaworthy than might have been expected, but we shipped a 
good deal of water at times, to the great inconvenience of the 
wounded men, and we had to keep constantly baling with our hats, 
or whatever we could lay hold of. As it became necessary to lighten 
the boat as much as possible the captain ordered us to sew the body 
of poor Seton up in his blanket, and to heave it overboard. No one 
present was able to read the burial service over him, and he who 
had so lately performed that office for his shipmates was committed 
to the deep without a prayer being said over him. I thought it at 
the time very shocking; but I have since learned to believe that 
prayers at a funeral are uttered more for the sake of the living than 
the dead, and that to those who have departed it matters nothing 
how or where their body is laid to rest. Of course w r e had no shot 
to fasten to poor Seton’s body. For a short time it floated, and as I 
watched it with straining eyes, surrounded by masses of white foam 
2 . , 


34 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


blown from the summits of the rising waves, I thought of the awful 
warning he had lately uttered to me, and felt that I, too, might be 
summoned whither he was gone. 

The wind and sea were now rapidly rising. In a short time it had 
increased very much, and as the waves came rolling up after us, 
they threatened every instant to ingulf the boat. She had begun 
to leak also very considerably, and do all we could, we were unable 
to keep her free of water. 

“ We must lighten the boat, my lads,” said the captain. “ Don’t 
be down-hearted, though; we shall soon make the land, and then 
we shall find plenty of provisions to supply the place of what we 
must now cast away.” 

Some of the men grumbled at this, and said that they had no 
fancy to be put on short allowance, and that they would keep the 
provisions at all risks. I never saw a more sudden change take 
place in any man than came over the countenance of the captain at 
this answer. Putting the tiller into the mate’s hand, he sprung up 
from his seat. “ What, you thought I was changed into a lamb, 
did you?” he exclaimed in a voice of thunder. “ Wretched idiots! 
just for the sake of indulging for a few hours in gluttony, you 
would risk your own lives and the lives of all in the boat. The 
first man who dares to disobey me, shall follow poor Seton out 
there — only he will have no shroud to cover him. You, Storr, over- 
board with that keg; Johnston, do you help him.” The men ad- 
dressed obeyed without uttering another word, and the captain went 
back to the stern-sheets, and issued his orders as calmly as if nothing 
had occurred. 

“ The captain was like himself, as I have been accustomed to see 
him,” I thought to myself. “ Sorrow for the loss of his vessel and 
his people changed him for a time, and now he is himself again.” 

I was not quite right, though. Rough as he looked, he was born 
with a tender heart; but habit, example, and independent command, 
and long unconstrained temper, made him appear the fierce savage 
man I often thought him. A large quantity of our water and pro- 
visions and stores of all sorts were thrown overboard, as was every- 
thing that was not absolutely necessary, to lighten the boat as much 
as possible. Yet, do all we could, there appeared to be a great 
probability that we should never manage to reach the shore. The 
water had also somehow or other worked its way between the can- 
vas at the joints in the fore and after parts of the boat, in addition 
to the seas which came in over the gunwale. To assist in keeping 
it out we stuffed everything soft we could find, bits of blanket, our 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


35 


shirt-sleeves and handkerchiefs, into the holes in the planks, though 
of course but little good was thus effected. In vain we looked round 
on every side, in the hope that our eyes might rest on some object 
to give us cause for hope. Darker and more threatening grew the 
sky, louder roared the wind, and higher and higher rose the seas. 
Scarcely half an hour more remained before darkness would come 
down on us. With no slight difficulty the boat had been kept 
steadily before the seas with the advantage of daylight; at night, 
with the sea still higher, we could scarcely expect that she could be 
kept clear. It was indeed with little hope of ever again seeing it 
rise that we watched the sun sinking toward the western horizon. 


CHAPTER III. 

Voyage in the boat continued- Gale blowing strong— A sail in sight— Will she 
pass us?— A French brig— Life on board— Reach Smyrna— Sailors' friend- 
ship— Our pranks on shore— The plague— Charley’s fears— Sent on board the 
“ Fate”— Once more afloat— Homeward bound. 

A look of blank, sullen despair was stealing over the counte- 
nances of most of the crew. Charley Iffley sat with his hands be- 
fore him and his head bent down, without saying a word, and 
seemingly totally unconscious of what was taking place. When I 
spoke to him he did not answer or look up. I suppose that he was 
thinking of his father, and grieving for his loss, so, after two or 
three trials, I did not again attempt to rouse him up. La Motte and 
I occasionally exchanged remarks; but when the wind again got up 
and we expected eveiy moment that the boat would founder, we 
felt too much afraid and too wretched to talk. The captain was 
the only person who kept up his spirits. Once more he rose from 
his seat, and stepped on to the after-thwart, holding on by the 
mainmast. I watched his eye as he cast it round the horizon. I 
saw it suddenly light up. “ A sail! my lads, a sail!” he exclaimed, 
pointing to the westward. Not another word was spoken for some 
time. We kept on our course, and we were soon able to ascertain 
.that the stranger was standing almost directly for us. The captain 
at once resolved to try and get on board her, whatever she might 
prove, rather than run the risk of passing the night in the boat. 
He on this put the boat about, for had we continued on the course 
we were then steering she might have gone ahead of us. Our great 
anxiety was now to make ourselves seen before the night closed 
down upon us. We had a lantern, but its pale light would pot 


34 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


blown from the summits of the rising waves, I thought of the awful 
warning he had lately uttered to me, and felt that I, too, might be 
summoned whither he was gone. 

The wind and sea were now rapidly rising. In a short-time it had 
increased very much, and as the waves came rolling up after us, 
they threatened every instant to ingulf the boat. She had begun 
to leak also very considerably, and do all we could, we were unable 
to keep her free of water. 

“We must lighten the boat, my lads,” said the captain. “ Don’t 
be down-hearted, though; we shall soon make the land, and then 
we shall tind plenty of provisions to supply the place of what we 
must now cast awa}\” 

Some of the men grumbled at this, and said that they had no 
fancy to be put on short allowance, and that they would keep the 
provisions at all risks. I never saw a more sudden change take 
place in any man than came over the countenance of the captain at 
this answer. Putting the tiller into the mate’s hand, he sprung up 
from his seat. “ What, you thought I was changed into a lamb, 
did you?” he exclaimed in a voice of thunder. “ Wretched idiots! 
just for the sake of indulging for a few hours in gluttony, you 
would risk your own lives and the lives of all in the boat. The 
first man who dares to disobey me, shall follow poor Seton out 
there — only he will have no shroud to cover him. You, Storr, over- 
board with that keg; Johnston, do you help him.” The men ad- 
dressed obeyed without uttering another word, and the captain went 
back to the stern-sheets, and issued his orders as calmly as if nothing 
had occurred. 

‘ ‘ The captain was like himself, as I have been accustomed to see 
him, ’ ’ I thought to myself. * ‘ Sorrow for the loss of his vessel and 
his people changed him for a time, and now lie is himself again.” 

I was not quite right, though. Rough as he looked, he was born 
with a tender heart; but habit, example, and independent command, 
and long unconstrained temper, made him appear the fierce savage 
man I often thought him. A large quantity of our water and pro- 
visions and stores of all sorts were thrown overboard, as was every- 
thing that was not absolutely necessary, to lighten the boat as much 
as possible. Yet, do all we could, there appeared to be a great 
probability that we should never manage to reach the shore. The 
water had also somehow or other worked its way between the can- < 
vas at the joints in the fore and after parts of the boat, in addition 
to the seas which came in over the gunwale. To assist in keeping 
it out we stuffed everything soft we could find, bits of blanket, our 


35 


- • ...... , - [ 

WILL WEATHERHLLM. 

shirt-sleeves and handkerchiefs, into the holes in the planks, though 
of course but little good was thus effected. In vain we looked round 
on every side, in the hope that our eyes might rest on some object 
to give us cause for hope. Darker and more threatening grew the 
skv. louder roared the wind, and higher and higher rose the seas. 
Scarcely naif an hour more remained before darkness would come 
down on us. With no slight difficulty the boat had been kept 
steadily before the seas with the advantage of daylight; at night, 
with the sea still higher, we could scarcely expect that she could be 
kept clear. It was indeed with little hope of ever again seeing it 
rise that we watched the sun sinking toward the western horizon. 


CHAPTER III. 

Voyage in the boat continued- Gale blowing strong— A sail in sight— Will she 
pass us? — A French brig — Life on board — Reach Smyrna— Sailors' friend- 
ship— Our pranks on shore— The plague— Charley’s fears— Sent on board the 
“ Fate ” — Once more afloat — Homeward bound. 

A look of blank, sullen despair w T as stealing over the counte- 
nances of most of the crew. Charley Iffley sat with his hands be- 
fore him and his head bent down, without saying a word, and 
seemingly totally unconscious of what was taking place. When I 
spoke to him he did not answer or look up. I suppose that he was 
thinking of his father, and grieving for his loss, so, after two or 
three trials, I did not again attempt to rouse him up. La Motte and 
I occasionally exchanged remarks; but when the wind again got up 
and we expected every moment that the boat would founder, we 
felt too much afraid and too wretched to talk. The captain was 
the only person who kept up his spirits. Once more he rose from 
his seat, and stepped on to the after-thwart, holding on by the 
mainmast. I watched his eye as he cast it round the horizon. 1 
saw it suddenly light up. “ A sail! my lads, a sail!” he exclaimed, 
pointing to the westward. Not another word was spoken for some 
time. We kept on our course, and we were soon able to ascertain 
that the stranger was standing almost directly for us. The captain 
at once resolved to try and get on board her, whatever she might 
prove, rather than run the risk of passing the night in the boat. 
He on this put the boat about, for had we continued on the course 
we were then steering she might have gone ahead of us. Our great 
anxiety was now to make ourselves seen before the night closed 
down upon us. We had a lantern, but its pale light would pot 


36 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


have been observed at any distance. Just before fhe sun sunk into 
the ocean we were near enough the stranger to make out that she 
was a large brig, apparently a ship of war, and by the cut of her 
canvas, and her general appearance, she was pronounced to be 
French. Though all my younger days we were at loggerheads with 
them, there happened just then, for a wonder, to be a peacb between 
our two nations, so there was no fear but what we should be treated 
as friends. 

The sun sunk ahead of us with a fiery and angry glow, while the 
clouds swept by rapidly overhead, and every now and then a flash 
of lightning and a loud roar of thunder made us anxious to find 
ourselves on board a more seaworthy craft than the frail boat in 
which we floated. We had no fire-arms with us, for the pirates had 
carried away or thrown overboard all they found on board the 
schooner, so we had no means of making a night signal. However, 
as there was still a little light remaining, we lashed two oars to- 
gether, and made fast at one end an ensign, which had fortunately 
been thrown into the boat. The captain then stood up and waved 
it about to try and attract the attention of those on board the brig. 
I felt inclined to shout out, under the feeling that far off as she was 
my feeble voice would be heard. On we flew through the water at 
a rate which threatened every instant to tear the canvas off the 
boat's bottom, while the seas at the same time constantly came on 
board and nearly swamped us. Time passed away; the gloom of 
evening thickened around us. Our hearts sunk within our bosoms. 
It seemed too probable that the stranger would pass without observ- 
ing us. We were again almost in despair, when the boom of a gun 
came rolling over the water toward us. To our ears it was the 
sweetest music, a sign that we were seen, and a promise, we be- 
lieved, that we should not be deserted. On stood the man-of-war 
directly for us; but it had now grown so dark, that though we 
could see her from her greater bulk, we could scarcely hope that 
those on board her could see us. We had two serious dangers to 
avoid. If we stood directly in her course, so rapidly was she going 
through the water, she might run over us before we could possibly 
make ourselves heard; while, if we kept too much out of her way,, 
she might pass us, and we might miss her altogether. Fortunately 
we succeeded in getting our lantern lighted, and the captain sent 
me to hold it up forward as soon as we drew near her. On she 
came; another minute would decide our fate; when we saw her 
courses hauled up, her topgallant sails furled, and coming up on the 
wind, she hove to on the larboard tack scarcely a cable’s length 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


37 


from us. We stood on a little, and then putting the boat about, 
we fetched up under her lee-quarter and ran alongside. A rope 
was hove to us, and lights were shown to enable us to get on board. 

Our captain spoke a little French, though it was of a very free- 
and-easy sort, I suspect. The brig proved to be, as he had thought, 
of that nation; and such a jabbering and noise as saluted our ears I 
never have in all my life heard on board of a man-of-war. How- 
ever, they wished to deal kindly by us. They at once sent us down 
rope with which the wounded men were hauled up, though there 
was great risk of getting them hurt in the operation. When this 
w as done, the rest of us set to work to hand up all the more valu- 
able things we had in the boat — not that the pirates had left us 
much, by the bye. While we were thus engaged, ~a squall struck 
the brig, and almost laid her on her beam-ends. We had just time 
to clamber up on board, w r hen a sea swamped the boat, which was 
directly afterward cut adrift; the helm being then put up, the brig 
righted, and off she flew before the wind/ The squall was quickly 
over (we had reason to be grateful that we had not been compelled to 
encounter it in the boat), and the brig was once more brought up 
on her course. We found that she was the “ Euryale,” of eighteen 
guns, and then bound for Smyrna. Though we would rather have 
been put on shore at Cephalonia, we were certain of their finding a 
vessel to carry us to Malta, if not home direct to England. 

The French captain and officers treated us very kindly, and the 
surgeon paid the greatest attention to the wounded; but though I 
have been on board many a man-of-war since, I'must say that I 
never have seen one in a worse state of discipline. One half of the 
officers did not know their duty, and the other half did not do it; 
and the men did just what they liked. They smoked and sung 
and danced the best part of the day, while the officers played the 
fiddle or the guitar, or gambled with cards and dice, and veiy often 
danced and sihoked with the men, which at all events was not the 
way to gain their respect. The captain was a very gentlemanly 
man, but had not been to sea since the war, and could not then have 
known much about a ship, so he did nothing to keep things right, 
and the great wonder to us was how he had managed not to cast 
her away long before we got on board her. 

We had no reason to complain. Both the officers and men treated 
us very kindly, and were thoroughly good-natured. Since those 
days, too, a very great change has taken place in the French navy. 
Their officers are, as a rule, very gentlemanly men, and the crews 
are as well disciplined as in our own service— indeed, should we 


38 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


unhappily again come to blows, we shall find them the most for- 
midable enemies we have ever encountered. 

We arrived at Smyrna without any adventure worthy of note. 
Just as we entered the port, the “ Ellen ” brig, belonging to Messrs. 
Dickson, Waddilove & Burk, the owners of the “ Kite,” came in 
also, and we at once went on board her. Captain Mathews was her 
master; he was one of the oldest and most trusted captains of the 
firm, and acted as a sort of agent for them at foreign ports. What- 
ever he ordered was to be done. He could send their vessels wher- 
ever he thought best, and had full control, especially over the ap- 
prentices. Thus Charley, La Motte, and I at once found ourselves 
under his command. He was a good-natured, kind sort of a man, 
therefore 1 had no reason to complain. We found lying there an- 
other brig belonging to the same owners. She was called the 
“Fate.” It was the intention of Captain Tooke to return home 
in the “ Ellen,” and to take us three apprentices with him, while 
of course the rest of the men would be left to shift for themselves; 
but there is a true saying that man proposes, but God disposes. 

We soon recovered from our fatigues and hardships, and got into 
fine health and spirits. The crews of the two brigs were allowed a 
considerable amount of liberty, and did not fail to take advantage 
of it. Altogether we had a good deal of fun on shore. Charley 
and I were generally together. We had not much money between 
us, but we contrived to muster enough to hire a horse now and 
then; and as we could not afford to have one apiece, we used to 
choose a long-backed old nag, which carried us both, and off we set 
in high glee into the country. The grave old Turks looked on with 
astonishment, and called us mad Giaours, or some such name; and 
the little boys used to throw stones at us, or spit as we passed, but 
we did not care for that: we only laughed at them, and rode on. 
Once we rode into a village, and seeing an odd-looking building, 
we agreed that we should like to have a look inside. We accord- 
ingly tied up our long-backed horse to a tree, and as there was no 
one near of whom to ask leave, in we walked. It was a building 
with a high dome, and lamps burning, which hung down from the 
ceiling, and curtains, but there was not much to see, after all. 
Presently some old gentlemen in odd dresses appeared at the further 
end, and as soon as they saw us standing and looking as if we did 
not think much of the place, they made toward us with furious 
gestures, so we agreed that the sooner we took our departure the 
better. When we turned to run, they came on still faster, and as 
we bolted out of the mosque — for so we found the building was 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


39 


called — they almost caught Up. We ran to our horse; while Char- 
ley leaped on his back, I cast off the tow-rope, and then he caught 
my hand and helped me up behind him, and away we galloped as 
hard as we could through the village. The old gentlemen could 
not run fast enough to overtake us, but they sung out at the top of 
their voices to some men in the street, and they called out to others,, 
and very soon we had the whole population after us with sticks in 
their hands, heaving stones at our heads, and shouting and shriek- 
ing at us. Luckily the hubbub frightened the old horse, and he 
went faster than he had done for many a day, and amid the bark- 
ing of dogs, the shouts of boys, the crying of children, and the 
shrieking of women, w r e made our escape from the inhospitable 
community. I had a good thick stick with which I belabored the 
poor beast to urge him onward. After some time the Turks, seeing 
that they could not overtake us, gave up the chase, and we agreed 
that we had better not enter into their village till they had forgotten 
all about the circumstance. When we got on board, we were told 
that we were very fortunate to have escaped with our lives, as many 
Englishmen had been killed by the Turks for a similar act of folly. 

Two days after this, one of the “ Ellen’s ” men came on board, 
complaining of being very ill. In a short time another said he felt 
very queer, and both of them lay down on their chests and could 
eat no food or keep their heads up. Before long, Captain Mathews 
came below, and finding that they both had something seriously the 
matter with them, sent on shore for an English doctor who resided 
at the place. After some time the doctor came, and told the men to 
turn up their shirt-sleeves and to show him their arms. 

“ I thought so,” said he, turning to the captain; “ it is my un- 
pleasant duty to tell you that you have got the plague on board. 
We have it bad enough on shore.” 

I thought the captain would have fallen when he heard the news. 

“ The plague!” he gasped out. “ What is to be done, doctor?” 

“ Send the men on shore; purify your ship, and get to sea as soon 
as you can, ’ ’ was the answer. 

But the plague is a conqueror not easily put down. Before night 
two more men were seized, and the two first were corpses. The 
captain of the “ Fate ” heard of what had happened, and sent his 
boats alongside to inquire how we were doing, but with strict orders 
that no one should come on board. <*No boat came the next day; 
the plague had paid her a visit, and three of the crew were corpses. 
The moans and shrieks of the poor fellows were rery dreadful when 
the fever got to its height. One moment they might have been seen 


40 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


walking the deck in high health and spirits, and the next they were 
down with the malady and utterly unable to move. Sometimes 
three or four hours finished their sufferings, and the instant the 
breath was out of their bodies we were obliged to heave th'em over- 
board. One after the other, the greater part of the crews of the 
two brigs sickened and died. We three apprentices had escaped, 
and so had our captain and Mr. Cole. The mate said he was not 
afraid of the plague or any other complaint, as he had got some- 
thing which would always keep it away. Charley Iffiey and I fre- 
quently asked him what it was. It was a stuff in a bottle which he 
used to take with his grog, and we suspected that he took it as an 
excuse for an extra glass of spirits. One cause why he escaped 
catching the plague was, that he never was afraid of it — either he 
trusted to his specific, or felt sure that he should not catch it; also, 
he never went on shore among the dirty parts of the town the men 
had frequented, and also lived separate from them on board. 

At length my companion Charley got ill. We lads had been re- 
moved to some temporary berths put up in the hold, where we could 
have more air than forward. One day after I had gone on shore 
with the captain to bring off the doctor, not finding Charley on 
deck, I went down to look for him. I found him in the berth 
tumbling about in bed and his eyes staring wildly. 

“Oh, Will! I am going to die, and there’s one thing weighs so 
heavy on my mind that I can not die easy till I tell it you!” he ex- 
claimed, in a tone of anguish. “ Just for my own pleasure I per- 
suaded you to come to sea, and ever since you have had nothing but 
danger and trouble. You’ll forgive me, won’t you? That’s what 
I want to know.” 

I told him, of course, that I forgave him heartily; indeed, that I 
had never accused him of being the cause of the sufferings which I 
had endured, in common with him and others. Then I told him 
that he must not fancy that he was going to die just because he felt 
a little ill, and that as the doctor was on board I would go and fetch 
him at once. 

The doctor came immediately, and, after examining him, applied 
some very strong remedies. I followed him on deck to inquire 
whether Charley really had the plague. “ No doubt about it,” was 
his reply; “ but if he drops into a sound sleep, I think he may throw 
it off without further evil consequences.” 

Anxiously I watched at the side of poor Charley’s bed. He talked 
a little— then was silent— and I found that he slept. I^did not dare 
to leave his side lest any one should come into the berth and awake 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


41 


him. Hour after hour I waited, till at last I sunk back on the chest 
on which I was sitting and fell fast asleep. When I awoke the sun 
was shining down through the main hatchway into the berth. I 
heard Charley’s voice. It was low but quiet. 

“Iam quite well now. Will, ” he said. “ If the doctor, when he 
comes, will let me get up, I think I could go about my duty with- 
out difficulty. ’ ’ 

I was very glad to hear him speak in that way, but I told him 
that his strength had not returned, and that he must remain quiet 
for a day or two. From that moment, however, he got rapidly bet- 
ter, and in a week was almost as well as ever. He was the hist per- 
son seized with the complaint on board the two brigs. On board the 
“Fate,” the master, and mates, and half the crew died; and had 
not we and the other survivors of the “ Kite’s ” crew arrived at 
Smyrna, it would have been difficult to find hands to take her to 
sea. Captain Mathews, however, directed Captain Tooke to take 
command of her, and sent Mr. Cole as mate, with Charley Iffley and 
me, while most of our men shipped on board her. I thought that 
we were to go home, but I found that my summer cruise was to be 
a very much longer affair than I had expected. Had I gone home 
then, I think that I should have followed my kind grandmother’s 
wishes and given up the sea.. Instead, however, of returning to 
England, the brig was employed running from place to place, wher- 
ever she could secure a freight. In that way I visited nearly every 
part of the coast of the Mediterranean. Sometimes we went up the 
Adriatic; then across to Alexandria; then to some port in Greece, 
or to one in Italy; then up to Constantinople, and away over to the 
ports on the northern coast of Africa. I saw a number of strange 
people and strange sights, but have not now time to describe them. 

I wrote home several times to my grandmother and aunt, but, as 
I w r as always moving about, I got no answers. I thought very likely 
that my letters or their replies had been wrongly directed; still I 
began to grow very anxious to hear what had become of the only 
two relatives I had on earth, and whom alone I had really learned 
to love. After I had been out about a year I asked leave, if I could 
find the chance to go home. The captain on this laughed at me, 
and reminded me that apprentices were not their own masters, and 
that I must make up my mind to stay where I was till the owners 
wanted the brig home. 

Three years passed away so rapidly that I was astonished to find 
how long I had been out in those seas. During all that time no 
(iccjdeut hud happened, and I began to hope that I was not going 


42 


WILL WEATHERHLLM. 


to suffer any further misfortunes in consequence of my rash oath. 
I expressed my feelings to Charley Iffiey. He laughed at me, and 
said that had nothing to do with the matter, that there was no great 
harm in what I had said, and that, consequently, I could \not ex- 
pect to be punished for it. I thought differently. I knew that 
there was harm, and felt that I might justly be punished. At first, 
after Charley had recovered from the plague, he appeared to have 
become a thoughtful and serious character, but unhappily he very 
soon fell off again, and was now as reckless as ever. At length the 
order came for us to return home. Merrily We tramped round at 
the capstan-bars to a jolly song, as we got in our anchor for the 
last time, and made sail from the port of Leghorn. We passed the 
Straits of Gibraltar, and with a smooth sea and southerly wind we 
had a quick run to the Land’s End, while our crew sung — 

“ To England we, with favoring gale, 

Our gallant ship up Channel steer. 

While running under easy sail 
The snow-white western cliffs appear.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

Come in sight of Old England— Many a slip between the cup and the lip— The 
thoughts of home— Effects of drunkenness— Breakers ahead— Ship on 
shore— Saved in a boat— The Scilly Isles— “Advantage of losing my shoes— 
Boat lost— I am again preserved— A night in a cave— Go in search of assist 
ance— Hospitable reception in the island — The old mate’s death— Sail for 
Plymouth— Spring aleak— Loss of the “Ellen”— The wave-tossed raft— 
Death of our companions. 

We made the Land’s End one morning in the middle of March, 
when a strong north-easterly gale sprung up in our teeth, and 
threatened to drive us back again into the middle of the Atlantic. 
After the bright sunny skies and blue waters of the South, how 
cold and bleak and uninviting looked our native land! But yet 
most of us. had friends and relations whom we hoped to see, and 
who we believed would welcome us with warm hearts and kindly 
greetings; and we pictured to ourselves the green fields, and the 
shady woods, and the neat cottages, and picturesque lanes to be 
found inside those rocky barriers, and we longed to be on shore. 
The captain was as eager as any of us to reach home; so, the brig 
being close-hauled, with two reefs in her topsails, we endeavored to 
beat up so as to get close under the land in Mount’s Bay. It was a 
long business, though— tack and tack— no rest and wet jackets for 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


43 


all of us; but what cared we for that? We had an important 
object to gain. Old England, our nalive land, was to windward. 
There we hoped to find rest from our toils for a season; there each 
man hoped to find what in his imagination he had pictured would 
bring him pleasure, or happiness, or satisfaction of some sort. I’ve 
often thought how strange it is, that though men will toil, and 
labor, and undergo all sorts of hardships, to obtain some worldly 
advantage, some fancied fleeting good, and to avoid some slight ill 
or inconvenience, how little trouble do they take to obtain perfect 
happiness— eternal rest — and to avoid the most terrific, the most 
lamentable of evils, the being cast out forever from the presence of 
the great, the glorious Creator of the universe, to dwell with the 
spirits of the lost. 

I gave a short account of Captain Tooke and Mr. Cole, as thej r 
appeared to me when I first joined the unfortunate “ Kite.” They 
had in no way altered. The captain was the same bold, daring 
seaman as ever, without any religious principle to guide him; and 
though his heart was not altogether hard or unkind, his manners 
were rough and overbearing, and he was often harsh and unjust to 
those below him. I have met numbers of merchant masters just, 
like him from the same cause. They are sent early to sea, without 
any proper training, and without any right principles to guide 
them. If they are sharp, clever lads, they soon are made mates, 
and before they have learned to command themselves they are 
placed in command over others. In most instances, their fathers, 
or relatives, or friends are masters or owners of vessels, and are in 
a hurry to get them employed. The vessels are insured, so that if, 
through their carelessness or ignorance, the vessels are cast away, 
that matters little, they consider. If the crew are lost that is the 
fate of sailors. If the master escapes they can easily get him a new 
vessel; and as he has learned a lesson of caution, he will be all the 
better master for some time to come till the vessel is worn out, and 
then there will be no great harm if she is lost also. I speak of 
things as they were in my day. I am glad to say that a very great 
improvement has taken place of late years. 

Our old mate held the master in great awe and respect. This was 
fortunate, as it generally kept him sober; still the old man never 
lost an opportunity of getting hold of his favorite liquor, and he 
would seldom leave the bottle while a drop remained. However, 
he generally contrived to get tipsy in harbor just before he was go- 
ing to bed, so that he could turn in and sleep off Ihe effects; and 
when now and then he w r as overtaken at sea, the men knew how to 


44 


Will weatherhelm. 


manage him; and, as he was good-natured and indulgent, they 
generally contrived to conceal his state and save him from the anger 
of the captain. Something of this sort had occurred the vqry day 
we made the land. While the captain was on deck he had gone 
into the cabin, where, in an open locker, he had discovered two 
bottles of rum. It was too tempting a prize not to be seized, and 
he carried off both the bottles to his own cabin, carefully closing 
the locker. The captain did not discover his loss. The old man 
went on deck, but soon making an excuse to go below, broached 
one of the bottles. He had made some progress through it before 
he was recalled on deck, and the condition on which he was verg- 
ing did not then appear. The brig was kept beating away across 
the seas, the wind shifting about and every now and then giving us 
a slant which enabled us to creep up closer to the land. We con- 
tinued gaining inch by inch, showing the advantage of persever- 
ance, till just about nightfall we got fairly into Mount’s Bay. We 
thought ourselves very- fortunate in so doing, for just then a strong 
breeze which had before been bio wing grew into a downright heavy 
gale, against which we could not possibly have contended. It 
seemed, however, to be veering round more to the northward, and 
the captain, "hoping that it would come round sufficiently to the 
westward of north to enable us to stand up Channel, instead of 
running in and bringing the ship to an anchor, determined to keep 
her standing off and on the land during the night that he might be 
enabled to take immediate advantage of any change which might 
occur. 

As he had been on deck for many hours, he went at last below, 
leaving the brig in charge of the mate. Now the old man found 
the weather cold, and bethought him of his bottles of rum. He 
knew the importance of keeping sober on such an occasion especial- 
ly, but lie thought that a little more rum would do him no harm, 
and would make him comfortable, at all events. He did not like 
to send for a bottle, so he went below himself to fetch it. It was 
his business to keep a constant watch on the compass, so as to ob- 
serve any change of wind. He was not long gone below, that I 
remember. When he came on deck he brought a glass and a bottle, 
but he had brought the full bottle instead of the half-emptied one. 
He asked Charley to bring him a can of hot water. Of course the 
fire had long been out, and there was none at that hour of the 
night. He stowed his glass and bottle away in a pigeon-hole under 
the companion-hatch, but every time he took a turn on deck he 
went back to it and had a taste of the liquor. He very soon forgot 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


45 


that he had put no water to it. This went on for some time till he 
sat himself down and forgot another thing — that was, that he was 
in charge of a vessel on a dark night, with a heavy gale blowing, 
and close in on a dangerous coast. We had gone about several 
miles without any difficulty, when, as we were once more standing 
in for the shore, a squall heavier than any we had yet experienced 
struck the vessel and laid her over almost on her beam-ends. At 
that moment the captain rushed on deck with the look of a half- 
frantic man. He cast one hurried glance forward. “ About ship! 
about ship! down with the helm!” he shrieked out in a voice of 
terrific loudness. 

“ All right — no fear, cap’en,” cried the old mate, staggering up 
to him. “ I’ve taken very good care of the barkie. ” 

At that instant a loud, grating, crushing sound was heard, and 
the brig seemed to be about to spring over some obstacle in her 
way. Then she stopped. Loud cries of horror arose from all 
hands, and the watch below rushed on deck. All knew full well 
what had occurred. • The brig was on the rocks, and the sea, in 
dark masses with snowy crests, came roaring up around us, threat- 
ening us with instant destruction. What reply the captain made to 
the old man I dare not repeat. Before I thought of anything else I 
remembered my own rash oath. “ Am I doomed to cause the 
destruction of every vessel I sail aboard?” I said to myself, with a 
groan of anguish, and a voice within me seemed to reply, “ Yes — 
that is to be your fate; but leap overboard and end it, and you will 
disappoint the malignity of the monarch of the tempest.” Happily 
the prayers my good grandmother had taught me had not all been 
forgotten. At that moment I uttered a prayer for mercy and for- 
giveness, and I knew then for certainty that the instigation had 
come from the Evil One for the purpose of destroying me body and 
soul. “ Oh, God, have mercy on me; do what is best,” I cried. 
Just then I was aroused by hearing the loud voice of the captain 
ordering the crew to get out the long-boat. I hurried to lend a 
hand at the work. It seemed, however, almost a hopeless under- 
taking, so high ran the sea around us. Fortunately the masts still 
stood. We got the tackles hooked on to the yards, and, casting in 
oars and boat-hook and sail, hoisted away with a will. The boat 
swung clear of the side, and the moment she touched the water, the 
old mate, with Charley and I, and the greater number of the men, 
leaped into her. We were expecting the captain and the rest of the 
crew to follow, when a heavy sea, with a terrific roar, came rolling 
up toward us. We heard shrieks and cries for help from our ship- 


46 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


X 

mates. Both the masts went by the board, the boat narrowly es 
caping being crushed by the mainmast, and the brig instantly began 
to break up. We got out our oars, and pulled back the distance 
we had drifted, shouting out to the captain, and to any who might 
have remained on board, but no reply reached us. Again and 
again we shouted louder than ever, still there was no response. 
The old mate sat like one stupefied; but the catastrophe his neglect 
had caused had had the effect of sobering him. One of the men 
who was more intelligent than the rest, and often had charge of the 
deck at sea in the place of a second mate, said that he thought we 
had struck on the Rundle Stone, which is near the shore, between 
Mount’s Bay and the Land’s End, though we ought to have been a 
long way to the eastward of it. 

We had hard work to keep our own near the wreck; but still we 
did not like to pull away while there was a chance of picking up 
any of those who might have remained on board. We did our best 
to keep our eyes on it through the darkness, with the wind and rain 
and spray dashing in our faces. Another huge sea came rolling 
on. The crashing and tearing of the timbers reached our ears, and 
the water which washed round us was covered with fragments of 
the wreck, among which we ran a great risk of having the boat 
stove in; but no voice was heard, nor could we see any one clinging 
to them. We had now to abandon all hope of saving any more of 
our unfortunate shipmates, and had to think of our own safety. 
Just as we had come to this resolve another sea rolled toward the 
wreck, and when it passed over not a fragment of her remained 
hanging together. We were in a sad plight. None of us had saved 
more than the clothes we had on our backs, and some of the watch 
below had not had time even to put on all theirs. In getting into 
the boat I had lost my shoes, which I thought a great misfortune, 
as my feet felt very cold, and I fancied when I got on shore that I 
should not be able to walk. We went manfully to our oars, and 
tried to pull in for the shore; but the gale came down stronger than 
ever on us, and we could not help being conscious that at all events 
we were making very little way. Still we persevered. We hoped 
there might be a lull— indeed, we had nothing else to do but to pull 
on. Bitter, however, was the disappointment which awaited us 
when the morning broke, and we looked out eagerly for the land. 
Instead of being nearer we were much further off (six or seven 
miles at least), and were still rapidly drifting away to sea. The 
further we got off the land the greater danger there would be of 
the boat being swamped; besides, we had saved no provisions, and 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


47 


we had the prospect of a fearful death staring us in the face from 
hunger and thirst. The old mate had by this time been sufficiently 
aroused to comprehend clearly the state of affairs. As I have said, 
he was, when sober, a good seaman, and thoroughly acquainted 
with the coast. As day drew on, it cleared a little, and looking 
round, he made out the Scilly Islands directly to leeward of us. 
He watched them earnestly for some time, and throwing off his hat 
and putting back his gray hairs with his hand, he sat upright, and 
exclaimed, “ Never fear, my lads, we’ve got a good port under our 
lee! I know the passage through the channel leading to it. Trust 
to me, and I’ll carry you safely there.” 

Though after what had occurred we had no great confidence in 
him, yet as none of us knew anything about the islands, we had his 
judgment and experience alone to trust to. So we watched our 
opportunity, and bringing the boat’s head carefully round, pulled 
in the direction he pointed out. A break in the clouds, through 
which the sun gleamed forth glancing over the white foam-topped 
seas, showed us the land in bold relief against the black sky. 

“ Ah! there’s St. Martin’s and St. Mary’s Islands,” observed the 
old man. “ Ah! I know them well. Many’s the time I’ve run be- 
tween: them up Crow Sound. Let’s see — what’s the time of day? 
There will be plenty of water over the bar. We shall soon have a 
glimpse of the Crow rock, when we get in with the land; and if 
only the Big Crow shows his head above water, we may cross (he 
bar without fear of breakers. Once through it, we shall soon be 
on shore at Grimsby, and Ihere are several people I know Ihere who 
will give us all we can want to make us comfortable.” 

The Crow, to which old Cole alluded, is a somewhat curious rock 
at the entrance of the Sound. It has three heads, called the Great 
Crow, the Little Crow, and the Crow Foot. When the Great Ciow 
is even with the water’s edge there will be twenty-one feet of water 
on the bar, when the second point appears there will be sixteen, and 
when the Crow’s Foot is visible there will be ten feet only. These 
are the sort of particulars which a good coast pilot has to keep in 
his memory, with the appearance of the numberless landmarks on 
the shore, and their distances one from the other. 

As we drew near the entrance of the Sound, through which if we 
passed we hoped all our misfortunes would end, the weather came 
on to be very thick again, so that we could scarcely see a dozen 
yards ahead. Still the mate seemed so sure of the passage that we 
steered on without fear. 

** Are you certain, sir, that we are heading in for the right chan- 


48 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


nel?” asked Wilson, the man I before spoke of, looking round over 
his shoulder at the mass of foam which he saw leaping up just 
ahead of us. “ Round with her! round with her, lads!” he shout- 
ed, “ this isn’t the channel.” 

“All right, all right,” persisted the old mate. But it was all 
wrong. A sea came rolling up, and hove us in among a mass of 
rocks over which the breakers dashed with terrific fury. In vain 
we endeavored to pull round. Over went the boat, and we were 
all thrown here and there, shrieking in vain for aid, among the 
foaming mass of broken waters. I struck out to keep my head 
above water if I could, and in anothei instant found myself hove 
against a steep rock to which I clung with all the strength of de- 
spair. I had thought the loss of my shoes a great misfortune. I 
now found it the cause of my preservation. Had not my feet been 
naked I never could have clung to the slippery rock, or freed my 
legs from the tangled sea- weed which clung round them. I strug- 
gled on — now a sea almost lore me off, and' then I made a spring, 
and scrambled and worked my way up, not daring to look back to 
watch the following wave, or to observe what had become of my 
companions. At length I reached the top of the rock. It seemed 
an age to me, but I believe it was not a minute from the time I first 
grasped hold of the rock till I was in comparative safety. Then I 
looked round for my companions in misfortune. Dreadful was the 
sight which met my eyes. There they were, still struggling in the 
waves — now touching some slippery rock, and hoping to work their 
way on *o where I was, and then borne back again by the hungry 
sea. In vain they struggled. I could afford them no help. One 
by one, their heavy boots impeding all their efforts, they sunk 
down, and were hid to view beneath the waters. Two or three sail 
remained alive, though at some little distance. One I recognized 
as our old mate, the cause of our disaster. He had contrived to 
kick off his shoes, and was swimming toward the rock. Poor old 
man, he struggled hard for life. In a moment I forgot all the mis- 
chief he had caused, and considered how I might help to save him. 
Undoing my neck- handkerchief, I fastened it to another I had in 
my pocket, and secured the two to the sleeve of my jacket. I 
watched him anxiously as he drew near, crying out to encourage 
him. Then I lowered the handkerchiefs, and as a sea washed him 
up toward the rock he caught hold of them, and with great care, 
lest we should both fall in, I helped him up the side of the rock. I 
had not time to say anything, for I saw another person struggling 
in the water, I was afraid that he would never reach the rock, for 




WILL WEATHERHELM. 


49 


his strength seemed almost exhausted. I shouted to him. He 
looked up. It was Charley Iffley. I own that I was now doubly 
anxious for his safety. Just then an oar washed by him. He was 
just able to grasp it. It enabled him to recover his strength, and in 
a short time another sea drove him close up to the rock. I hove 
the end of my handkerchief to him, he caught it; and the old mate 
and I leaning over, hauled him, almost exhausted, out of the reach 
of the sea. We looked round. We were the only survivors out of 
all the crew. The strong men had lost their lives. The oldest and 
weakest, and the two youngest, had alone been saved. Whether 
we should ultimately escape with our lives seemed, however, very 
doubtful. There was barely space enough for US' to sit clear out of 
the wash of the sea; and should the tide be rising we might be 
washed off. We found, however, that the tide was falling, and 
this restored our hopes of bbing saved. As the tide ebbed the water 
got a good deal smoother, and the weather once more clearing, we 
were able to consider our position and what was best to be done. 
We judged that we were three-quarters of a mile from the island of 
St. Mary’s, but we could make out no habitations, and we thought 
it very probable night might come on before anybody would see us, 
while we felt if we remained on the rock that we could scarcely 
hope to survive. 

We were already benumbed with the cold, and almost perishing 
with hunger. “ We must try and reach the island,” said Mr. Cole; 

“ are you inclined to try it, lads?” We of course said we were. 
He looked at his watch, which being an old silver hunting one, 
was, in spite of the wet, still going, and found that it was two 
o’clock. “ In another half hour we must make the attempt,” said 
he; “ so, lads, prepare as best you can. It won’t be an easy job.” 
The time to wait seemed very long. We watched the tide ebbing, 
and rock after rock appearing. At last he said, “ We can not hope J 
for a better opportunity than now. I’ll lead the way. Lend me a 
hand, lads, if I want it.” 

We promised him that we would, and slipping down the rock on 
the land side a much greater distance than we had come up. we 
found our feet touching the bottom. There was no sea to speak of, 
so on we went pretty confidently. The old man advanced very 
cautiously, but Charley Iffley, thinking that we might move faster, 
said ho- would go ahead. He did, and went head under also imme- 
diately afterward. He came up again directly, and struck out to- 
ward the next rock. We took to swimming at once, to save the 
loss of breath, and all reached the next rock without difficulty. 


50 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


After resting a little we started again. We had no wish to remain 
longer than we could help with a north-easterly gale blowing on us 
in the month of March. The cold, too, was very bitter. Yet at 
the time I fancy I scarcely thought about it. Thus on we went, 
sometimes wading, sometimes swimming, and sometimes scram- 
bling along Ihe ledge which the receding water had left bare. Often 
we had to assist each other, and I believe none of us alone could 
have performed the task. Once Mr. Cole was very nearly giving 
in, and twice Charley declared he could not go on, and must stay 
on the rock where we were resting till we could send him aid. We 
soon showed him that the rock would be covered long before assist- 
ance could reach him, and in another instant he was as ready as 
either of us to proceed. Once I almost gave in, but my companions 
roused me up, and again I set forward with renewed strength. 

A It was not, however, till six o’clock in the evening that we 
reached the shore, and as we found ourselves on dry land we stag- 
gered up the beach, and the old mate fell down on his knees, and in 
a way I did not expect of him, thanked the Almighty for the mercy 
He had shown us. It was a wild, desolate place, with only high 
rocks about on every side, without trees, and no roads that we 
could discover to guide us to any habitation. We went on a little 
way, and then the mate and Charley said they could go no further. 
I also felt my strength almost exhausled, but I knew that it would 
not do for all of us to give in, so I roused myself to exertion. That 
I might try and learn our position before night completely overtook 
us I climbed up to the top of the highest rock I could find and 
looked around me. Not a habitation or a sign of one could I dis- 
cover, or a road or path of any sort — while wild heath, or sand, or 
rock stretched away on every side, looking cold and bleak as well 
could be, in that dark, dreary March evening. With this uncheer- 
ing information I found my way back to my companions. We 
could not attempt to move on i» the dark, so we looked about for 
some place where we might find shelter during the night. 

“ Oh, Will, I wish we had some food, though,” said Charley; 
“lam dying of hunger.” 

So was I, and before moving further I returned to the beach, and 
with my knife cut off a number of shellfish from the rocks, and 
filled my pockets with them. With this provision I returned to 
my companions, and sat down by their side. We eat a few, which 
much refreshed us, and Charley said he could go on, but the old 
mate declared his inability to move further. 

Accordingly, Charley and I hunted about in every direction, and 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


51 


at last came on a shallow cave on the l^e-side of a rock. The sand 
inside was dry, and after being exposed so long to the cold wind we 
thought the air warm, so we helped the old man into it, and placed 
him in the warmest and driest spot we could find out. He did not 
seem to care about eating, but complained bitterly of thirst. 
Charley could no longer move, so I went out to try and find some 
water. As I was groping about, almost giving up the search in 
despair, I felt my foot splash into a puddle. I knelt down. It 
was clear, pure water, and I drank as much as I required. How 
grateful I felt! I thought that I had never tasted a more delicious 
draught. I had saved my hat, and filling it from the pool, I carried 
the water to my two companions. We longed to be able to light a 
fire, but we had in the first place no flint and steel to produce a 
flame, so of course it was not worth while to search about for fuel. 
At last, finding I could do nothing else for the comfort of my com- 
panions, I sat down beside them and opened some more of the 
shell-fish, which we eat raw. They served to stay our hunger, but 
1 can not say that eaten raw, without vinegar, or pepper, or bread, 
they were particularly palatable. 

We had promise of a dreary night, and this was only the com- 
mencement. The poor old mate was very ill. Deprived of his 
usual stimulants, he could badly support the cold and wet to which 
he had been so long exposed. He began to shiver all over, and 
complained of pains in every part of his body. Then he was silent, 
and would do little more than groan terribly. At last his mind be- 
gan to wander; he did not know where he was nor what had hap- 
pened, and he talked of strange scenes which had occurred long 
ago, and of people he had known in his youth. I could not help 
listening with much interest to what he said. By it I made out 
that he was by birth a gentleman; that he had gone to sea in the 
navy with every prospect of rising in it, and that he had been in 
one or two actions in which he had distinguished himself. Bqt a 
change came over him. He had begun by small degrees, just 
taking a nip now and then, till he had become — and that very 
rapidly — a hard drinker. From that time all his prospects in life 
were blighted. From some misconduct he was dismissed the ship 
to which he belonged, and soon afterward, for similar behavior, 
the navy itself. Then he squandered away in vice and sensual in- 
dulgence the whole of his patrimony, and at last w r ent to sea in the 
merchant service as the only means of obtaining support. 

His career has been that of many young men who have begun 
life w T ith as fair prospects, and ruined them all from their own folly 


52 


WILL VVEATHERHELM. 


and imprudence. Poor old man, when I heard all this, and feared 
that he was dying, I could not help pitying him, and feeling still 
more sad when I thought that the last act of his life was a strong 
evidence that he had in no way reformed as he advanced in years. 

At length he slept more quietly, and, overcome by weariness, I 
too fell fast asleep. I did not awake till the sun was up and glanc- 
ing on the tops of the rocks before our cave. Charley awoke at the 
same time, and began to rub his eyes and to wonder where he was. 
The old mate was* awake. There was a dull, cold look in his eye, 
and his brow was wrinkled with pain. He groaned when I spoke 
to him, but after a little time he aroused himself and spoke. He 
said that he could not move a limb, much less walk; but he begged 
that Charley and I would try and find our way to the nearest vil- 
lage and bring him assistance. 

“Make haste, that’s good lads,” said he, in a trembling voice; 
“ my days are numbered, I fear; but I am not fit to die. I don’t 
want to die, and I would give all I own to save my life.” 

I did not want any pressing. I got up, and though my limbs 
were stiff, after moving them about a little I found that I could 
walk. Charley at first thought that he could not move, but on 
making one or two trials he discovered that he was able to accom- 
pany me. So we set off together to try and find our way to Grims- 
by, which the mate told us was the nearest village he knew of. 

After wandering about and missing our way, and having to sit 
down frequently from weakness, we reached Grimsby. Our ap- 
pearance excited a good deal of compassion among the people, who 
came out of their houses to inquire about the wreck. The chief 
man of the place was a Mr. Adams; he took us into his house and 
sent for shoes and clothing for us, and had us washed, and dressed 
in fresh dry clothes, and put food before us. When I told him 
about the old mate, he said that he knew the place, and that he could 
not let us go, but that he would send some men with a litter who 
would bring him in much sooner than if we were to go for him. 
He was as good as his word, for not long after we had done break- 
fast Mr. Cole appeared; he seemed very ill, but he was able to take 
a little food, and drink some spirits and water. He was put at once 
to bed, and Mr. Adams sent over to St. Mary’s, the chief town in 
the island, for a doctor to see him. The doctor came, and shook his 
head and said that he saw very little prospect of his recovery. All 
the time we remained at Grimsby, we were treated with the greatest 
kindness. We had the best of everything, comfortable beds, and 
nothing to do. Charley and I sat up by turns by the side of the old 

* r"> 


f 


WILL WEATHERtTELM. 53 

man’s bed. He grew worse and worse; we soon saw that his days 
were drawing to a close. 

A week passed away, and still he lingered on. I asked the doc- 
tor if he did not think that he might recover. 

“No; it is impossible,” he answered. 

“ Does he know, sir, that he is going to die?” I asked. 

“ Every man knows that such will be his lot, one day or other,” 
he replied, ‘ ‘ though many try very hard to forget it. ’ ’ 

“ Shall I tell him, sir, what you think?” said I; for I could not 
bear the idea of allowing the old man to go out of the world with- 
out any preparation. 

“ It will do him no harm, ’’said the doctor. “If it would, I 
could not allow it. My duty is to keep body and soul together as 
long as I can.” 

I thought even at the time that something more was to be done. 
It was not, however, till many years afterward that I discovered it 
was far more important to prepare the soul for quitting the body, 
than to detain it a few hours or days longer in its mortal frame, 
with the risk of its losing all the future happiness it is so capable of 
enjoying. When I went back to the old mate I told him that the 
doctor thought he was in a very bad way, and that he would never 
be on his feet again. 

“Well, Will,” said he, “ it’s a hard case; but I’ve known men 
as ill as I am get well again, and I don’t know why I shouldn’t 
recover. ’ ’ 

“ But if you don’t recover — and*the doctor, who ought to know, 
thinks you won’t— wouldn’t it be well to prepare for death, sir?” 
said I boldly; for, having made up my mind to speak, I was not 
going to be put off it by any fear of consequences. He was silent 
for a long time. 

“ I’ll think about it,” he said at last. 

He little thought how short a time he had to think about it. So 
it is with a great number of people. They’ll tell you that they will 
not think about dying, but think whether they will make prepara- 
tion for death; and they go on thinking, till death itself cuts the 
matter short, and the right preparations are never made. So it was 
with the poor old mate. He said that he had no friends— no relations 
who would care to hear of him — and that he had no message to 
send to any one. He intended, however, to get well and to look 
after his own affairs. In the evening he got worse. I suspected 
that he thought he was dying, because he gave his watch to Mr. 
Adams, who had been so kind to us, and divided a few shillings he 


54 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


had in his pockets between Charley and me. The next day he 
died. Though I had no respect for him, I felt a blank as if I had 
lost an old friend. Charley and I saw the poor old man buried, 
and then we agreed that it was time for us to be looking out for a 
vessel to get back to our masters. 

The next day a brig called the “ Mary Jane ” put into the har- 
bor, bound round from Bridgewater to London. Though 1 wanted 
to get to Plymouth to see my grandmother and aunt, and Charley 
wished to go to Hull, to stay with his widowed mother, as another 
chance might not occur for some time, we shipped aboard her. Be- 
fore going we told Mr. Adams the name of the firm to which we 
were apprenticed, that he might recover from them the sums he had 
expended on us; but he replied that he had taken care of us be- 
cause it was right to succor the distressed, and that he required no 
reward or repayment. He was a good man, and I hope he enjoys 
his reward. 

The desire to see my only relations grew stronger every day, and 
I thought how happy I should feel if I could but get landed at Ply- 
mouth, to run up and take them by surprise. This, however, could 
not be. When we reached London I found that the “ Mary Jane,” 
as soon as she had discharged her cargo, was to sail again for the 
westward; and as she this time was to touch at Plymouth, so the 
captain said, I asked him to give me a passage. He replied, that 
as I had behaved very well while with him he would, so I remained 
on board. Here I parted from Charley, who got a berth on board 
a vessel bound for Hull, where he wanted to go. We sailed, and I 
hoped in a few days to have my long-wished-for desire gratified. 
When, however, we got abreast of the Isle of Wight, we met with 
a strong south-westerly gale, which compelled us to run for shelter 
to the Motherbank. While lying there the captain received orders 
from his owners not to touch at Plymouth, but to go on to Fal- 
mouth. This was a great disappointment to me. Still I thought 
that I could easily get back from Falmouth to Plymouth, so that it 
would be wiser to stick by the ship. 

The old brig was not much of a sailer, but still, after running 
through the JSTeedles, we had a quick passage till we got a little to 
the westward of the Eddystone. The captain, for some reason or 
other, expecting a south-westerly breeze, had been giving the land 
a wide berth, when the wind, instead of coming out of the south- 
west, blew suddenly with terrific violence from the north-east. The 
old tub of a brig did her best to beat up toward the land, but with- 
out avail. A squall took all her sails out of her, and away we went 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


55 


chiving helplessly before it, as if we were in a hurry to get across 
the Allantic. Our master, Captain Stunt, though a good seaman, 
was nothing of a navigator, and we could scarcely tell even where 
we were driving to. The vessel also was old, and had seen a good 
deal of hard service. Our condition, therefore, was very unsatis- 
factory. He had no quadrant on board, and if we had possessed 
one there was no one to use it — indeed, it was many days before the 
sun appeared, and all we knew was that, by the course we had 
drifted and the rate we had gone, we were a considerable distance 
from any land. Still the captain hoped, when the weather moder- 
ated, to be able lo beat back and get hold of the Irish coast, as the 
phrase is. At length the wind lulled a little, and we once more 
made sail on the brig. We got on pretty well for a few hours, when 
down came the gale once more on us, and before he could shorten 
sail, a heavy sea struck the vessel, and she was turned over on her 
beam-ends, a sea at the same time knocking our boats to pieces and 
washing everything loose off the deck. There she lay like a log, 
the water rushed into her hold, and every moment we expected she 
would go down. Terror was depicted on every countenance. The 
only person who remained cool and collected was the old master. 

“ My lads, we must cut away the masts — there’s no help for it!” 
he sung out in a clear voice. He himself appeared directly after- 
ward with an ax in his hand, but it was some time before others 
could be found. The first thing was to cut away the lee rigging 
and then the weather, that the masts might fall clear of the hull. 
A few well-directed strokes cut nearly through them, and with a 
crash the remaining part broke off, and the vessel lay a dismasted 
hull amid the high- leaping and foaming waves. She righted, how- 
ever, and we had now to hope that, if she weathered out the gale, 

. some vessel might fall in with us and tow the brig into harbor, or 
at all events take us off the wreck. The next thing to be done was 
to rig I he pumps to get the vessel clear of the water which had 
washed into her. We all pumped away with a will, for we knew 
that our lives depended on our exertions. Pump as hard as we 
could, however, we found that we made no progress in clearing the 
wreck of water. At last the mate went down to ascertain the cause 
of this. In a few minutes he rushed on deck with a look of dis- 
may. 

“ What’s the matter, Ellis?” asked the captain. 

‘‘It’s all up with us, sir,” answered the mate. “ A butt has 
started, and it- is my belief that the brig will not swim another half 
hour.” 


56 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


“Then let us get some grog aboard, and die like men,” cried 
some of the crew. 

“ Die like brutes, you mean, my lads!” exclaimed the old master. 
* ‘ No. no, we will have none of that. Let us see wliat we can do to 
save our lives. What, do you call yourselves British seamen, and 
talk of giving in like cowards! Don’t you know that there’s ‘ a 
sweet little cherub that sits up aloft ’ to take care of the life of 
poor Jack. That means that God Almighty watches over us, and 
will take care of those who trust in Him.” 

These remarks from the old man had a good deal of effect with 
the sailors. “ What is it you want us to do, sir?” they asked. 

** Why, build a raft, my lads, and see if it won’t float us.” 

Encouraged by the spirited old man, we all set to work with a 
will. With our axes some of us cut up the deck and bulwarks, and 
collected all the remaining spars, while the rest lashed them to- 
gether. The mate and a boy were employed meantime in collecting 
all the provisions and stores he could get at and in stowing them 
away in a couple of chests, which formed the center of our raft. 
In a very short time nearly everything was ready. The raft was, 
however, so large that we could not attempt to launch it, but we 
hoped that it would float when the brig sunk under us. We had 
all been so busy that we had not observed how rapidly the vessel 
was sinking. Suddenly the old master gave a loud shout, “Now, 
my lads, now, my lads! to the raft, to the raft!” Some of the men 
had gone forward to get hold of their clothes or some money, or 
anything they could find, against his advice. Some of them were seen 
at this moment leisurely coming up the fore-hatchway. Even when 
he shouted to them they did not hurry themselves, any more than 
sinners are apt to do when warned by their faithful pastors to flee 
from the wrath to come. Mr. Ellis and I, with Iwo other men, were 
near him at the time. We leaped on to the raft as he spoke, and 
seizing some oars which had been placed on it, we stood ready to 
shove it clear of the wreck as she sunk. The vessel gave a plunge 
forward. The other men on deck rushed aft with frantic haste, 
but the waters were around them before they could catch hold of the 
raft. The look of horror on their countenances I can not even now 
forget. One was a little before the others; he clutched at one of the 
oars. With our united strength we hauled him in. Then down 
went the brig. The cry of our companions was quickly stifled. 
The raft rocked to and fro as the wild seas tossed up fiercely round 
us. Now one came sweeping on. “ Hold on! hold on!” shouted 
the old master. One of our number did not attend to him. The 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


57 


sea passed over the raft, almost blinding us. When we looked up, 
the man was gone. Five of us only remained alive. How soon more 
of our number might be summoned from the world, who could tell? 
I dare not dwell on the dreadful thoughts which passed through 
my mind. Was I truly under the ban of Heaven? Was I to prove 
the destruction of every vessel I sailed aboard? This was the 
fourth time I had been shipwrecked. “Oh, my oath! my oath!” 
I ejaculated. “ Could I but retract it! But how is that to be done?” 
Uttered once, there it must remain engraven in the book of heaven. 
As I lay on that sea-tossed raft, in the middle of the Atlantic, I 
pondered deeply of those things in my own wild untutored way. 
Did but men remember always that every word they utter, every 
thought to which they give expression, is entered on a page never to 
be erased till the day of judgment, how would it make them put a 
bridle on their tongues, how should it make them watch over every 
wandering emotion of their minds, and pray always for guidance 
and direction before they venture to speak! 

For several days the gale continued. We scarcely ventured to 
move for fear of being washed away. Now the raft rose on the 
side of a sea — now rocked on its summit — now sunk down into the 
trough, but still was preserved from up setting — had which event 
occurred, we must have been inevitably lost. We had food in the 
chests, but w T e had little inclination to taste it. Water was our great 
want. Our supply was very scanty. By the master’s urgent ad- 
vice, we took only sufficient at a time to moisten our tongues. For 
a few days we bore this with patience. Then the wind went down, 
and the sea grew calm, and the hot sun came out and struck down 
on our unprotected heads. The weather grew hotter and hotter. 
The men declared they could stand it no longer. One seized the 
cask of water, and before the master could prevent him, took a 
huge draught; then the others followed his example. The mate for 
some time withstood the temptation, but at length he yielded to it. 

“ Are we to die without a prospect of prolonging existence, be- 
cause these men consume all the water?” I said to myself, and tak- 
ing the cask, drew enough to quench my thirst. I offered it to the 
master. “ Come, sir,” said I, “ take the water, it may revive you, 
and perhaps to-morrow help may come.” 

He could not withstand the appeal. Perhaps some men might 
have done so, from a high sense of the necessity of adhering to a 
resolution once formed. In two days we had not a drop of water 
left. Then came horrors unspeakable. Madness seized the poor 
mate. Before he could be restrained, he leaped from the raft and 


58 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


sunk below the waves. The other two men sickened. First one, 
then the other died. The captain, though the oldest of all, kept his 
senses and his strength. He was a calm, even-tempered, abstemi- 
ous man. Still, as he sat on the chest in the middle of the raft, of 
which he and I were the only occupants, he spoke encouragingly 
and hopefully to me. I listened, but could scarcely reply. I felt a 
sickness overcoming me. I thought death was approaching. I 
sunk down at his feet with a total unconsciousness of my miserable 
condition. 


CHAPTER V. 

Again preserved— Charley’s account of himself— A night at sea— The West 
Indies— A hurricane— Ship on fire— Again on a raft— Look out for help — The 
happy relief— The breaking out of war— Pursued— Endeavor to escape— 
Captured by friends— The man-of-war— Our mate pressed— Duty on board— 
Mr. Merton’s gallantry— Old England at lasL— A bitter disappointment— 
Friends gone — Miss Bundle— She tells me what has become of Aunt Bretta 
—Visit my grandmother’s grave. 

My last thoughts had been, before I lost all consciousness, that 
death was about to put an end to my sufferings. I remember then 
hearing a rush of waters — a confused sound — rattling of blocks — 
human voices — cries and shrieks. I looked up — it was night. A 
dark object was towering above my head. I fancied it was a huge 
black rock, and that it was going to fall down and crush me. ‘ ‘ To 
what strange shore have we drifted?” I thought. I cried out with 
terror. “ Never fear, my lad,” said a voice. “ It’s all right.” I 
found myself gently lifted up in the arms of a person, and when I 
next opened my eyes, I discovered that I was on the deck of a large 
ship and several people standing round me. The light of a lantern 
fell on the face of one of them. I looked hard at the person. Was 
it only fancy? I was certain that it was the countenance of Charles 
Iffley. I pronounced his name. He had not before recognized me. 

“ Wh3% Will Weatherhelm, how did you come out here?” he ex- 
claimed, in a tone of surprise. But a gentleman, whom I found to 
be a doctor, told him that he must not now talk to me, and that he 
would find out all about it by and by. 

I was then carried below, and placed in a berth, and very kindly 
treated. In a few days I was sufficiently recovered to go on deck. 
I was glad 10 see old Captain Stunt there also, looking well and 
fresh. I found that we were on board a large West India trader, 
the “ Montezuma,” belonging to the firm to which I was appren- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


59 


ticed, Messrs. Dickson, Waddilove & Buck. I little knew what ad- 
ditional cause for gratitude we had for our escape, for the ship 
coming on the raft at night while Mr. Stunt was asleep, we were not 
observed till she actually grazed by it. The noise awoke him, when 
he shouted out, and the ship being close-hauled, and having little 
way, was immediately luffed up, and without difficulty we were 
taken on board. 

“Well, Charley, how did you come to be on board the ‘ Monte- 
zuma?’ ” I asked. 

“ That question is very simply answered, ” said he. “ When I got 
home I found that my uncles and aunts and all my first cousins 
looked upon me as a very troublesome visitor, and hinted that the 
sooner I took myself off to sea again the better. It is not comfort- 
able to feel that everybody is giving one the cold shoulder, so I 
begged to have a new kit, and offered to look out for a ship. It 
was wonderful how willingly everybody worked, and liow soon my 
outfit was ready. My eldest uncle hurried off to Mr. Dickson, and 
as they were just sending the ‘ Montezuma ’ to sea, and had room 
for an apprentice, I was immediately sent on board, and here I am. 
Now you know all about me. I thought I was going to change and 
become a better character. I was sorry for many things I had done, 
and if my relations had treated me kindly at first, I think they 
would have found me very different to what I was. However, give 
a dog a bad name and it sticks to him like pitch.” 

‘ ‘ But I am afraid, Charley, from what you have told me, that 
you gave yourself the bad name,” said I. “ You should not blame 
.others.” 

“ I do not,” he answered. “ All I blame them for is, that they 
did not soften their hearts toward me, and try to reform me. They 
might have done it, and I could have loved some of them tenderly; 
but others are harsh, stiff, cold, veiy good people, who have no 
sympathy for any who do not think like themselves, and make no 
allowances for the follies and weaknesses of those who have not 
had the advantages they have enjoyed. ’ ’ And Charley put his head 
between his hand and burst into tears. 

I was very glad to see this. It made me like him more than I 
had ever before done. I have since often thought how very differ- 
ent many young people would turn out if they ■were spoken to by 
their elders with gentleness and kindness — if sympathy was shown 
them, and if their faults were clearly pointed out. 

Our owners were very respectable people, and understood their 


60 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


business, so they were generally well served. Captain Horner, of 
the “Montezuma,” was a good sailor. The crew consequently 
looked up to him, though he kept himself aloof from them. He 
was what the world calls a very good sort of man, but as to his re- 
ligion and morals I was not able to form an opinion. Il may seem 
strange that I, a young apprentice, should have thought at all on 
the subject. Perhaps, if those in command knew how completely 
their conduct and behavior are canvassed by those under them, 
they would behave very differently to what they do. Our second 
mate, Josias Merton by name, was a man worthy of remark. He was 
a very steady, serious-minded person, and yet full of life and fun. 
He prided himself on his knowledge of his profession in all its de- 
tails. His heart was kind and gentle, and he was at the same time 
brave and determined, active and prompt in action. He never un- 
dertook what he did not believe, after due consideration, he could 
accomplish, and therefore seldom failed in what he undertook. 
Both Charley and I owed him much, for he spared no pains to im- 
prove us and to instruct us in our profession. 

As soon as I w r as well, I was placed in a watch and began to 
know and to do my duty. The Atlantic afforded me the sight of 
many objects to which I had been unaccustomed in the Mediter- 
ranean. I remember one night coming on deck, and after I had 
looked to see what sail was set, and how the ship was steering, I 
cast my eyes over the calm ocean. It was very dark. There.was 
no moon, and clouds obscured the stars. I gazed with amazement. 
The whole surface of the deep, far as the eye could reach, was 
lighted with brilliant flashes. I bent over the side. The sea was 
alive with fish of every size and shape. Some were leaping up, 
ever and anon, out of the water; others were chasing their smaller 
brethren through it; others, again, rolled over in it, or lay floating 
idly near, as if looking up with their bright eyes to watch the ship, 
the invader of their liquid home. People talk of the lack luster of 
a fish’s eye. They are acquainted only with a dead fish. Did they 
ever remark the keen, bright, diabolical eye of a shark watching 
for his expected victim? I know nothing in nature more piercing, 
more dread-inspiring. Here were collected sharks, and pilot fish, 
and albicores, bonettas, dolphins, flying-fish, and numberless others, 
for which old Mr. Stunt, to whom I applied, could give me no 
name. The very depths of the ocean seemed to have sent forth all 
their inhabitants to watch our proceedings. 

“ I suppose that it is the shining copper on the ship’s bottom at- 
tracts them,” said the old man, “They take it to be some big 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


61 


light, 1 conclude. ’ ’ Whether he was right or not I have never since 
heard any one give an opinion. 

The first place at which we touched wad Bridgetown, in the 
island of Barbadoes. I thought the Bay of Carlisle, with the capital 
Bridgetown built round its shores, and Ihe fertile valleys, and rich 
fields of sugar-cane, altogether a very lovely spot. The West India 
Islands are divided into what are called the Windward and Leeward 
Islands. The wind, it must be understood, blows for nine months 
of the year from the east. The most eastern islands are therefore 
called the Windward Islands, and those in the western group the 
Leeward Islands. Of all the Carribbean Islands, Barbadoes is the 
most windward, and the Havanna the most leeward. We had to 
land cargo and passengers, and to take in cargo at several islands. 
We commenced, therefore, at the windward ones. In that way I 
became acquainted with a considerable portion of the West India 
Islands, and very beautiful places I saw on them. The “ Monte- 
zuma ” was not long in getting a full cargo, and then she prepared 
to return home. The last place at which we touched was Kingston 
in Jamaica. At length, I thought to myself, I shall once more see 
Old England, and satisfy my kind grandmother and Aunt Bretta 
that I am still alive. I hope that I may leave this vessel without 
her being shipwrecked, as has been the fate of every one I have yet 
been on board. Just as this idea had crossed my mind the captain 
sent for me, and said that he was going to leave Mr. Merton in charge 
of a small schooner, which was to be employed in running between 
the different islands to collect cargo to be ready for the return of 
the ship, and that he wished me to remain. 

“You will be soon out of your indentures, and if you behave 
well, as I have no doubt you will, I will promise you a mate’s 
berth,” he added. 

This was indeed more than I could have expected; and though 
I was disappointed in not going home, 1 thanked the captain very 
much for his good opinion of me and kind intentions, and accepted 
his offer. The “Montezuma” sailed for England, and I found 
myself forming one of the crew of the ** Grogo ” schooner. We 
had a very pleasant life of it, because the black slaves did all tho 
hard work, taking in and discharging cargo, and bringing water 
and wood off to us. 

I might fill pages with descriptions of the curious trees and plants 
and animals I saw in the West Indies. There is one, however, 
which I must describe. I was asking Mr. Merton one day the mean- 
ing of the name of our schooner. He laughed, and said that grogo 


62 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


is the name of a big maggot which is found in the Cockarito palm or 
cabbage-tree. This maggot is the grub of a large black beetle. It 
grows to the length of four inches, and is as thick as a man’s 
thumb. Though its appearance is not very attractive, it is consid- 
ered a delicious treat by people in the West Indies, when well 
dressed, and they declare that it has the flavor of all the spices of 
(he East. These maggots are only found in such cabbages as are 
in a state of decay. The Cockarito palm often reaches fifty feet in 
height. In the very top is found the most delicate cabbage inclosed 
in a green husk, composed of several skins. These are peeled off, 
until the white cabbage appears in long thin flakes, which taste 
a ery like the kernel of a nut. The heart is the most delicate, and, 
being sweet and crisp, is often used as a salad. The outside when 
boiled is considered far superior to any European cabbage. One of 
the most important trees in the West Indies is the plantain-tree. It 
grows to the height of about twenty feet, and throws out its leaves 
from the top of the stem to as to look^some thing like an umbrella. 
The leaves when fresh are of a shining sea-green color, and have 
the appearance of rich satin. When the young shoots come out, 
they split and hang down in tatters. From the top grows a strong 
stalk about three feet long, which bends down with the weight of 
its purple fruit, each of which is in shape like a calf’s heart — a con- 
siderable number form one bunch. Each tree produces but one 
bunch at a time. The plantain, when ripe, forms a delicious fruit, 
and when boiled or roasted, it is used instead of potatoes. It forms a 
principal portion of the food of the negroes. The cassava forms 
another important article of the food of the blacks. The plant 
grows about four feet high; the stem is of a gray color, and divides 
near its top into several green branches, from which spring red stalks 
with large leaves. There are two species, the sweet and bitter cas- 
sava. The bitter is excessively poisonous till exposed to the heat of 
fire. The root is like a coarse potato. It is dried and then grated 
on a grater formed by sharp pebbles stuck on a board, and the juice 
which remains is then pressed out by means of an elastic basket, 
into which the grated root is stuffed. The farina thus produced is 
made into thin cakes and baked. Tapioca is the finer portion of the 
farina. 

I might, as I was saying, fill my pages with an account of the 
wonderful productions of those fertile islands, of the value of which 
Ida not think even now my countrymen are fully aware. One 
curious circumstance I must mention in connection with them and 
my paternal country, Shetland, though I did not hear it till very 


WILL WEA THE It HELM. 


63 


many years afterward. It shows how intimately the interests of dis- 
tant parts of the world are united. The slaves in the West Indies 
Were supplied by their masters with salt fish, which fish were caught 
by the Shetlanders off their coasts. When the slaves were emanci- 
pated, they refused any longer to eat the description of food which 
they had been compelled to consume during their servitude, and 
the Shetland fish- dealers had not thought in the meantime of look- 
ing out for fresh markets. The consequence was, they were ruined; 
the herring boats were laid up, and the fishermen had to go south 
in search of employment. 

However, that has nothing to do with ni) r story. The “ Grogo ” 
was very successful, and we were looking forward every day for 
the return of the “Montezuma.” I could not help telling Mr. 
Merton one day of my rash oath which I had made in the presence 
of my grandmother, and how I had been wrecked in every vessel I 
had sailed in from the time I came to sea. He tried to reason me 
out of the belief that I w r as the cause of the loss of the vessels. He 
said the oath was wicked, there was no doubt of that, but that 
others had lost their lives and some their property, while I' each 
time had suffered less than anybody else. I saw the strength of his 
reasoning, but still I was not convinced. I felt that I had deserved 
all the hardships I had endured, and I fully expected to be wrecked 
again. What followed may seem very strange. All I can do is to 
give events as they occurred. Two days after this we lay becalmed 
about ten miles from the land off Port Morant, to the eastward of 
Kingston in Jamaica. We had an old man of color, who acted as 
pilot and mate on board. He had been below asleep. At last he 
turned out of his hot, stifling berth, and came on deck. He looked 
round the horizon on every side. 

“ Captain,” said he, “ I wish we were safe in port. There’s 
something bad coming.” 

“ What is it, Billy?” asked Mr. Merton. 

“ A hurricane!” was the answer. 

The hurricane came. The spirit of the whirlwind rode triumph ^ 
antly through the air. Earth and ocean felt his power; trees were 
torn up by the roots; houses were overthrown; the water rose in 
huge waves — hissing, and foaming, and leaping madly around us. 
Our topmasts had been struck; every stitch of canvas closely 
furled, and everything on deck securely lashed. The fierce blast 
of ihe tempest struck the little vessel; round and round she was 
helplessly whirled. Away we drove out to sea, and we thought 
we were safe; but our . hopes were to prove vain. Once more we 


64 


Will weatherhelm. 


approached the shore with redoubled speed; the frowning rocks 
threatened our instant destruction; we could do nothing for our 
preservation. To anchor was utterly useless. We shook hands all 
round; on, on we drove. A yellow sandy bay appeared between 
two dark rocks; a huge sea carried us on; safely between the two 
rocks it bore us; up the beach it rolled. The schooner drew but 
little water. High up the sea carried us stem on. We rushed for- 
ward, and springing along the bowsprit, leaped on to the sand, and 
before another sea could overtake us we were safe out of its reach. 
We fell down on our knees and uttered a prayer of thanksgiving 
for our preservation. In ten minutes not a fragment of the schooner 
held together. We had truly reason to be grateful. 

“ Another time wrecked, ” said I to Mr. Merton. 

“ Yes, Will; but another time saved,” was his answer. 

We got safe to the village of Morant Bay, where we were very 
kindly received, and the next day were forwarded over land to 
Kingston, there to await the ‘arrival of the “ Montezuma.” She 
came into Port lioyal harbor in about a week, not having felt the 
hurricane. As the agent had a full cargo for her, she only re- 
mained a short time, and at length I found myself on the way to 
the shores of old England. 

“ There is no fear now but what I shall get to Plymouth at last, ” 
I thought to myself as I walked the deck in my watch the first 
night after we had got well clear of the land, and were standing 
out into the broad Atlantic. Then I remembered my rash oath, 
and in spite of all Mr. Merton’s reasonings, I could not help believ- 
ing that its consequences would still follow me. “Home! home! 
with all its endearments, is not for you. The time of your proba- 
tion is yet unfulfilled! — your punishment is not accomplished!” — 
a voice whispered in my ear. I could not silence it. . Still I thought 
that it was only fancy. Just then Charley Ifliey joined me in my 
walk, we were in the same watch. Hitherto I had never told him 
of my belief that a curse was pursuing me. I should have been 
wiser not to Have mentioned the subject to him; still I thought that 
he was so much changed that he would sympathize with me. I 
told him all that had occurred from the moment when I first ex- 
pressed my wish to go to sea to my grandmother and aunt, and re- 
minded him of all the sufferings I had endured, and the number of 
times I had been shipwrecked. Instead, however, of treating the 
subject in the gentle, serious way Mr. Merton had done, he burst 
into a loud fit of laughter. 

“ Nonsense, Will,” he exclaimed, “ you’ll hext accuse me of being 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


65 


your evil spirit, and of tempting you to sin. Many a man has been 
shipwrecked as often as you have who has been sent to sea against 
his own will; and if he swore at all, it was that he might speedily 
get on shore. Get that idea of your head as soon as possible.” 

I was anxious enough to follow Charley’s advice, but do all I 
could, the idea came back and back again whenever I found myself 
during my watch at night taking a turn by myself on deck. 

Charley was already out of his indentures, and as he had become 
a steady fellow and a good seaman, he hoped to be made mate on 
his next voyage. At last the day arrived when the term of my ap- 
prenticeship expired, and I was to be a free man, able to take any 
berth offered to me. My only wish, however, after I had paid my 
family a visit, was to be employed in the service of my present 
owners. To commemorate the event, Charley proposed having a 
feast in our mess, and he managed to purchase from the third mate, 
who acted as a sort of purser, various articles of luxury and an ad- 
ditional bottle of rum. We were very jolly', and very happy we 
thought ourselves, and blew all care to the winds. The passengers 
and the captain were making meny in the same way in the cabin, 
drinking toasts, and singing songs, and making speeches, and tell- 
ing funny stories, so the cabin-boy told us as he came forward con- 
vulsed with laughter. The wind was fair and light, the sea was 
smooth, and no ship floating on the ocean could have appeared more 
free from danger. Suddenly there was a cry — a cry which, next 
to “ Breakers ahead,” is the most terror-inspiring which can strike 
on a seaman’s ear. It was, “ Fire! fire! fire!” Who uttered it? 
A man with frantic haste — horror in his countenance — rushe 3 up 
from the after hold. “ Fire! fire! fire!” he repeated. In an instant 
fore and aft the revelers in dismay sprung from their seats and 
hurried on deck. The captain was calm and collected; had he lost 
his presence of mind, who could have hoped to escape? With rapid 
strides he reached the after hatchway, out of which streams of 
smoke were gushing forth. He summoned the passengers and 
some of the crew to provide themselves with buckets, and to heave 
the water down upon the spot whence the smoke seemed to come, 
while the rest of the crew were employed in pumping water into 
the hold. Wet sails and blankets were brought, and filled by Mr. 
Merton, some of the more daring of the men leaped down with 
them, in the hope of stifling the flames before they burst forth. I 
followed the second mate; I knew the risk, but I resolved to share 
it with him. “More blankets! more sails!” we shouted. They 
were hove down to us; but in vain we threw them over the lower 
3 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


66 

hatchway. Thicker and thicker masses of smoke came gushing 
forth, and we were obliged to cry out to be drawn up, and were 
almost overpowered before we reached the deck. Two of our 
number had been left behind. Mr. Merton and I were about to 
return, when a loud explosion was heard. Part of the deck was 
torn up, and flames burst fiercely forth through the hatchway. It 
was very evident that some of the rum casks had ignited, as was 
afterward ascertained, by a candle having been carelessly left burn- 
ing in the hold. 

All hopes of saving llie ship were now abandoned. The boats 
could not carry the entire crew and passengers. They were, how- 
ever, instantly lowered into the water with a boat-keeper in each, 
while the rest of the people were told off, some to get up provisions 
and water, and others to construct a raft. I was engaged on the 
raft, but remembering what I had suffered on former occasions, I 
urged the people to take an ample supply of water in each of the 
boats. Scarcely was the long-boat in the water than flames burst 
forth through the main-hatchway, and had not the captain been 
prompt in his orders the boat itself would have been lost. Pro- 
visions for the raft were put into the long-boat, while we were 
working away at its construction. Eveiy moment we expected to 
see the flames burst forth from under our feet. We worked with 
might and main; with our axes we cut away the after bulwarks, so 
as to launch it overboard. We had crowbars in our hands. It was 
barely finished. 

“ Heave away, my lads, heave away!” shouted the captain. 
“ Now, gentlemen; now, my men; those told off for the boats, be 
smart! Get into theml No crowding, though.” 

The orders were obeyed, for everybody had learned to confide in 
the captain’s judgment. We meantime were urging the raft over 
the side. “ Quick! quick!” was the cry. With reason, too. The 
flames burst forth close to our heels. With mighty efforts, ly 
means of our crowbars, we prized on the raft, it being balanced 
over the sea, yet the flames almost caught it. One effort more. It 
plunged into the water. A rope brought it up. Almost before it 
again rose to the surface we were compelled by the devouring ele- 
ment behind us to leap on to it. The deck gave way with a crash 
as we left it, and two more poor fellows sunk back into the flames. 
The painter was cut, and as the ship drove slowly away from us, 
another loud explosion was heard, and fore and aft she was wrapped 
in flames, which rose writhing and twisting up to her topgallant 
masts. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


67 


“ And there’s an end of the fine old ‘Montezuma.’ Well, she 
was a happy ship!” exclaimed a seaman near me, passing his hand 
across his brow. “You know, Weatherhelm, I’ve sailed in her 
since I was a boy, and I have learned to look upon her pretty much 
as if she was my mother.” I never heard warmer praise bestowed 
on a merchantman. 

Thus was I once more floating on a raft in the middle of the 
Atlantic. “ I thought it would be so, ” I muttered to myself. ‘ * My 
oath, my oath!” 

While watching the conflagration of the ship, we had had no time 
to think of our own condition. The boats had pulled off to some 
distance from the burning ship, and we were left without oars, or 
sails, or provisions. Night, too, was coming on. The dreadful 
idea occurred to some of us, that those in the boats witn their eyes 
dazzled by the glare of the burning ship might not see the raft. 
The captain, by the urgent request of the people, had gone in the 
long-boat. Mr. Merton had remained with us. We shouted — but 
in vain — the boats were too far off to allow our voices to be heard. 
The night came on, but still we could see the burning wreck, and 
we felt sure that while that beacon was in sight, the boats would 
not give up their search for us. We forgot how fast the wreck had 
been drifting away. Our3 seemed a hard fate. Without food or 
water, unless picked up we must evidently soon perish. Mr. Merton 
addressed us in a spirited, - manly way. He told us not to despair — 
that many poor fellows had been much worse off than we were, and 
that certainly by daylight we should be seen by our shipmates in 
the boats, and be supplied with what we wanted. If not, we were 
exactly in the track of homeward-bound vessels coming from 
America, and that we should be certainly fallen in with. 

It was a very dreary night, though. All we could do was to sit 
quiet and watch the burning wreck. Gradually the flames burned 
lower and lower. Then a huge glowing ember appeared, and that 
suddenly sunk from sight. In spite of our position I had fallen 
asleep, when I was aroused by a loud shout from my companions. 
It was in answer to a cry which came floating over the water from 
a distance. We waited eagerly listening. Again the far-off cry 
was repeated. Loudly we cheered in return, for we were very 
hungry, and had not yet had time to grow weak from hunger. In 
less than twenty minutes the boats came dashing up round us, and 
we found ourselves amply supplied with provisions, which we dis- 
cussed with no small appetites. The captain then addressed us all; 
he told us that we must husband pur provisions and water, as we 


68 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


could not tell when any vessel might fall in with us. He then 
urged the people in the other boats to remain by the raft, and sug- 
gested that in the daytime they should extend themselves about ten 
miles on either side so as to have a wider field of observation, but 
in the night that they should come back and hang on to the raft. 

I ought to have said there were four boats, and thus we were able 
to command a range of vision of at least fifty miles. That is to 
say — the raft being in the center — the boats were twenty miles 
apart, and from each boat a sail of fifteen miles off could at al] 
events be seen. The plan was agreed on. We had secured a long 
spar, which we set up as a mast in the center of the raft, with a 
flag at its head, so that the boats could always have us in view; 
besides which, several compasses had been saved which would en- 
able them to find us even in thick weather. All we had now, there- 
fore, much to fear from was bad weather and a long detention, 
when we might run short of provisions. The day passed away, 
and no sign of a vessel was perceived. The mate kept up our 
spirits by every means in his power. He encouraged us to sing 
songs and tell stories to each other, and to give an account of our 
adventures, and then he told us some stories, and some of them 
were very funny, and made us laugh, and I must sav that I have 
passed many duller days than were those which I spent on that 
raft. “And now, my lads,” said he, “as we can not steer our 
course across the ocean without a compass, no more can we our 
course through life without principles to guide us. Now the only 
book which can give us right principles — can show us how to live — 
the port we are bound for, and how to gain it, is one I have in my 
pocket/’ We all wondered what he was aiming at, and he was 
silent for some little time to allow our thoughts to settle down after 
the joking we had had. Then he pulled out of his pocket a Bible, 
and took his seat on a cask in the middle of the raft. “Iam going 
to read to you from this Holy Book, my lads, and I hope that you 
will listen to what I read— try to understand it — think over it — and 
do what it tells you.” I’ve often since heard the word of God read 
to sailors, but never more impressively; never to better effect, I be- 
lieve, than I did on that raft in the Atlantic. 

Just at nightfall all the boats came back, and hung on to us dur- 
ing the night, and nearly all the people went soundly to sleep. The 
captain in the morning proposed that those in the boat should 
change places with those on the raft, but we said that we were 
contented to be where we were, and that we preferred remaining 
with Mr. Merton, The next day passed away much as the first, so 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


69 


did a third and a fourth. In the evening, however, of that last 
day, three boats only came back; the whale-boat, commanded by 
the fourth mate, did not make her appearance. Various were the 
surmises about her. Some thought that an accident had, happened 
to her; many expressed their fears that the mate had deserted us, 
and abuse of no gentle nature was heaped on his and his com : 
panions ’ heads. The only people who made no complaints, and 
only seemed anxious to find excuses for him were those on the 
raft. Why was this? Because, as I fully believe, they were in- 
fluenced by the principles of Christian charity which the mate had 
been explaining to us, that principle which thinketh no wrong, 
until evidence indubitable is brought that wrong has been com- 
* mitted. Although we on the raft did not abuse the first mate and 
those with him, we could not help feeling anxious for his return. 
An hour of darkness passed away, and then another and another, 
and still the whale-boat did not appear. She had gone, I ought to 
have said, on the lee side of the raft; but tlieAvind was light, so 
that she cculd have had no difficulty in pulling up to it. No one 
this night felt inclined to go to sleep. We were all too anxious 
about our companions. I saw Mr. Merton turning his eyes with a 
steady gaze away to the south-east. I looked in the same direction. 
Gradually I saw emerging out of the darkness an opaque, towering 
mass. At first I thought it was a mere mark in the clouds, and 
then it resolved itself into the form of a tall ship close-hauled under 
all canvas. A shout from the ttoats showed that they had dis- 
covered the stranger. Again we shouted, and a cheer came up 
from her to show us that we were seen and heard. In a few min- 
utes she hove to, and our own whale-boat appeared from alongside 
her, accompanied by another boat. The mate explained, as he made 
a tow-rope fast to the raft to tow us alongside the ship, that he had 
seen her just before nighl fall, and by pulling away to the south- 
ward had happily succeeded in cutting her off. 

We soon found ourselves on board a large ship, the “ Happy 
Belief and a happy relief she was to us— bound homeward from 
Honduras with logwood. They were a rough set on board, from 
the master to the apprentices, but they treated us kindly, as most 
sailors treat others in distress, and we had every reason to be grate- 
ful to them. We had still greater reason to be thankful that we 
got on board their ship that night, for before the morning a gale 
began to blow, and a heavy sea soon got up, which would have 
swept us all off the raft, and in all probability swamped the boats. 
It continued blowing for several days. The ship labored very 


70 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


much, and soon all hands were called to the phmps. She had 
proved a fortunate ship to us, and it was a fortunate circumstance 
for her that she had fallen in with us; for all hands had to keep spell 
and spell at the pumps, and even so we were only just able to keep 
the leaks under* Had she not had us on board she would very 
soon, I suspect, have been water-logged. At length the gale abated, 
but we, notwithstanding, had to keep the pumps going night and 
day. By the time we reached the Chops of the Channel, having a 
fair breeze, we were looking out every instant to make the land, 
when a big ship hove in standing directly across our course. The 
people on board the Honduras ship had told us that a few days be- 
fore they fell in with us they had spoken an outward-bound brig, 
from which they gained the news that war had broken out between 
England and France and Spain. We made out the stranger to be a 
heavy frigate, but as she showed no colors, to what nation she be- 
longed we could not tell. Some on board thought we ought to haul 
our wind on the opposite tack to that she was on, so as to avoid her 
altogether. She was standing with her head to the north. Our 
captain soon after gave the order to brace up the yards on the lar- 
board tack, hoping to run into Mount’s Bay or Falmouth harbor. 
We soon had proof that those on board the frigate had their eyes on 
us. The smoke of a gun was seen to issue from one of her bow 
ports as a sign for us to heave to, but the captain though he should 
first like to try the fleetness of his heels before he gave in. So we 
continued our course to the northward. The frigate on this braced 
her yards sharp up, and showed that she was not going to allow us 
to escape her, and, by the way she walked along, we soon saw that 
we should without fail become her prize. 

All the men who had got two suits of clothes went and put 
them on, and stowed away all their money and valuables in their 
pockets, and we all of us began to think how we should like to see 
the inside of a Spanish or French prison. For my part, I had 
heard such stories about the cruelty of the Spaniards and French, 
that I began to wish I was back again on the raft in the middle of 
the Atlantic. One thing is certain— there is nothing harder than to 
become a prisoner at the beginning of a war, to' an enemy who hates 
you, with veiy little prospect of being exchanged. All the glasses 
in the ship were turned toward the frigate as she drew near, to try 
and make out what she was. Presently she fired another gun 
across our bows, and this time she was within shot of us, and at 
the same moment up went the British ensign. Seeing that there 
was no chance of escape our captain hove to. I thought that as 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


71 


slit* was an English ship all was right, and could not make out the 
reason of the agitation some of the older hands were in. In a 
quarter of an hour or so a boat with a lieutenant and a pretty 
strongly armed crew came alongside. As he stepped on board he 
went up to the captain and told him about the war, and asked 
where he had come from, and whether he had fallen in with any 
strange ships. “And now, captain,” said he, quite calmly, “I 
should just like to see your crew. Muster them on deck, if you 
please. You’ve a large number,” he remarked, as soon as we all 
appeared. The captain told him how he had picked so many of us 
up at sea. “ Ho, ho!” said the lieutenant: “ come here, my lads; 
you’d be glad to serve his majesty, I know.” And he told all the 
crew of the “ Montezuma,” except the captain and first mate, to 
get into his boat. 

There was no little grumbling at this, but he did not appear like 
a man who would stand any nonsense of this sort, so it went no 
further. “But those two are apprentices, ” said Captain Horner, 
pointing to Charley and me, and forgetting that we were both out 
of our indentures. 

“Stout lads for apprentices,” remarked the lieutenant. “Let 
me see your papers.” 

Now it might have been said, as we had been wrecked, that we 
had lost them, but I would not tell a lie to gain any object. 

“ Please, sir,” said I, “ Ihe captain makes a mistake. I was out 
of my indentures a few days ago. I’ve no protection, and I don’t 
want any. I, for one, am ready to serve his majesty and to fight 
for my country. 

Charley hearing me say this, declared himself of the same mind, 
and wishing Captain Horner and the captain of the Honduras ship 
good-bye, and thanking them, we went over to the side ready to 
step into the boat. The lieutenant said he liked our spirit, and that 
he should keep his eye on us, and if we behaved well he should 
recommend us for promotion. This was satisfactory, but still I felt 
that all my prospects of becoming a mate were blown to the wind. 
The person who felt it most was Mr. Merton. From being an 
officer (and a gentleman he always was) he was reduced to the rank 
of a common seaman. What was far worse, too, he was engaged to 
be married, as soon as he returned home, to the daughter of a 
clergyman, who, Charley told me, was quite a lady. Now, poor 
fellow, for what he could tell, years might pass before he would be 
able to return on shore. 


72 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


“Well, my man, are you ready to go?” said the lieutenant to 
him. 

“ I was second mate of the ship, and have private affairs which 
require my presence in England, sir,” he answered, quite calmly; 
and his voice showed that he was a man of education. 

“ That is no protection, I am afraid,” said the lieutenant. “ Duty 
js not always pleasant, but it must be done. ” 

“ Very true, sir,” said Mr. Merton; “ but let me write a line to 
send home, and speak a few words to my late captain. I will not 
detain you.” 

“lean give you five minutes, ” said the lieutenant, pulling out 
his watch. 

Mr. Merton thanked him and hurried below. 

Poor fellow! What words of anguish and sorrow did he pour 
out in that letter; yet, I doubt not, he expressed his own resigna- 
tion, and endeavored to encourage her to whom it was addressed to 
hope that yet happy days were in store for them. He intrusted the 
letter to the captain, and begged him to go and see and comfort the 
lady to whom it was addressed. Then with a calm countenance he 
appeared on deck, and signified to the lieutenant that he was ready 
to accompany him. I doubt not he felt like a brave man going to 
execution. 

The frigate we were on board was the “ Brilliant,” of forty guns, 
and, as I looked round and saw what perfect order she was in, I 
thought her a very fine ship, and except that I regretted not being 
able to return home, I was perfectly content to belong to her. Men- 
of-war in those days were very different, to what they are at pres- 
ent. Men of all classes were shipped on board, often out of the 
prisons and hulks, and the sweepings of the streets. Quantity was 
looked for because quality could not be got. An able seaman was 
a great prize. The press-gangs were always at work on shore, and 
they thought themselves fortunate when such could be found. 
Now, with such a mixture of men, the bad often outnumbering 
the good, very strict and stern discipline was necessary. 

The very first day I got on board I saw five men flogged for not 
being smart enough at reefing topsails. I thought it veiy cruel, 
and it set me against the service. I did not inquire who the men 
were. I found afterward that they were idle rascals who deserved 
punishment, and always went about their duty in a lazy, sluggish 
way. However, there was no doubt that our captain was a very 
taut hand. The ship had just come out of harbor. He had found 
out that the greater part of his crew were a bad lot, and he was 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


73 


getting them into order. He treated us who had belonged to the 
“ Montezuma ” in a very different way. He saw that we were 
seamen, and he valued us accordingly. Still I think there was 
more punishment on board than was absolutely necessary. We 
had nine powerful fellows doing duty as boatswain’s mates on 
board, and there was starting and flogging going on every day and 
all day long. The first time I ever saw a man punished I felt sick 
at heart, and thought I should have fallen on deck, but I recovered 
myelf and looked on afterward with very little concern. 

The frigate I found was bound on a six months’ cruise in the 
Bay of Biscay, not the quietest place in the world in the winter 
season. Mr. Merton was very soon made captain of the fore-top, 
and Charley and I were slationed on the top with him. Owing to 
him, I believe, we avoided being flogged, for he was always alive 
and brisk and kept us up to our duly. After all, there’s nothing 
like doing things briskly. There’s no pleasure in being slow and 
sluggish about doing a thing, and a great waste of time. Mr. Mer- 
ton soon attracted the notice of the officers, and they used to ad- 
dress him very differently to the way they spoke to the other men. 
There was in the top with us a young midshipman; he was a fine 
little lad — full of life, and fun, and daring. He was the son or 
heir of some great lord or other, and a relation of the captain’s, 
who had promised especially to look after him. Well, one day the 
ship was running before the wind with studden sails set alow and 
aloft and every sail drawing, so that she was going not less than 
eight or ten knots, when this youngster, with two or three others, 
was skylarking aloft. He had gone out on the fore-topsail yard- 
arm, when somehow or other he lost his hold and down he fell. 
Fortunately, he struck the belly of the lower studden sail, which 
broke his fall and sent him clear of the ship into the sea. Just at 
that moment Mr. Merton was coming up into the top. He saw the 
accident. Almost before the sentry at the gangway could cry out, 

“ A man overboard!” he was in the water striking out to catch hold 
of the youngster, who couldn’t swim a stroke. At that moment 
the captain came on deck. He was in a great state of agitation 
when he heard who it was who had fallen overboard.' Studden 
sail-sheets were let fly. No one minded the spars, though they 
were all cracking away; the helm was put down, the yards were 
braced sharp up, and the ship was brought close on a wind. 

Meantime Mr. Merton was striking out toward where young Mr. 
Bouverie had gone down. All eyes were directed to the spot. 

“ Now he sees him. He strikes out with all his might to catch 


74 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


him before the youngster sinks again. He has him — he has him, 
hurra!” Such were the cries uttered on every side, for the young- 
ster was a favorite with all hands. A boat was instantly lowered, 
and Mr. Merton was brought on board with the youngster he had. 
rescued, both of them nearly exhausted. The midshipman was 
carried into the captain’s cabin. Mr. Merton, when he had shifted 
his wet things, returned on deck to his duty. The captain, how- 
ever, immediately sent for him, and told him that he could not find 
words to express his gratitude. Mr. Merton thanked him, and said 
that he had merely done his duty, and did not consider which of 
the midshipmen it was he was going to try to save. 

“ Well, you have prevented a mother’s heart from being wrung 
wilh agony, and a noble house from going into mourning,” said the 
captain. “You deserve to be rewarded.” Mr. Merton thanked 
him, and went about his duty, thinking little more of the matter. 

Now, although seamen know how to value a man who has leaped 
overboard, at the risk of his own life, to save a fellow -creature 
from drowning, they do not make much fuss about it, because most 
of them would be ready to do the same thing themselves. Still, it 
was easy to see that Joe Merton, as he was called by the ship’s com- 
pany, was raised yet higher in their estimation. 

After we had been at sea some time we stood away to the west- 
ward. One forenoon, a shout from the masthead announced a sail 
in sight. 

“ Where away?” asked the officer of the watch. 

“ On the weather bow,” was the answer. “ There are two— three 
—four— the whole horizon is studded with them,” cried the look- 
out. 

The officers were pretty quickly aloft to see what the strangers 
could be, for some thought perhaps it was an enemy’s fleet. As 
they drew near, however, they were pronounced to be merchant- 
men, and before long we ascertained by their signals that they were 
part of a homeward-bound West India convoy, which had been 
separated in a gale of wind, off the banks of Newfoundland, from 
the ships of war in charge of them. Finding that they were totally 
unprotected, our captain made up his mind that it was his duty to 
see them safe into port, and signaling to them to keep together 
and put themselves under his orders, he invited some of the mas- 
ters of the vessels near him to come on board to give him the news. 
Among other things, he learned that a fast-sailing French privateer 
had been hovering about them for some time, and had already picked 
off two, if not more, of their number, both heavily laden and valu- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


75 


able ships belonging to London; and the masters Were of opinion 
that she had carried them into Santa Cruz, a harbor in the island 
of Teneriffe, one of the Canaries, because they had spoken an 
American vessel, the master of which told them that he had passed 
two such ships, accompanied by a craft answering to the descrip- 
tion of the privateer, steering for that place. This information 
made the captain in a greater hurry than ever to get back to Eng- 
land, as he had made up his mind, as it afterward appeared, to go 
and try to cut the ships out. 

A strong westerly wind sprung up soon after this, and carried 
us in five days, with all our convoy, safe into Plymouth Sound. 
Now, for the first time after so many years, I found myself back at 
the place where 1 had passed my childhood, and where the only 
relations I had ever known, the only beings whose love 1 had any 
right to claim, resided. How eagerly I gazed on the shore, and I 
thought even that I eould make out the little neat white row of 
cottages outside the town, in one of which my grandmother and 
aunt lived! But now came the question, how could I hope to get 
on shore? It was not likely that any leave would be granted, as we 
guessed that the frigate would not remain more than a day or two 
in habor. The captain had gone on shore to see the admiral, and 
the first lieutenant was also called away, so that the ship was left 
in charge of the second lieutenant, who had pressed me. I knew 
that I was not likely to get what I wanted by holding back, so I 
made bold and went up to him and told him how I had left my 
grandmother when I was a boy, and had been kept knocking about 
ever since, and had only once, for a few hours, set my foot on En- 
glish ground in the London docks, and I would give anything if I 
might just run up and see how the old lady and my aunt were, and 
show them that I was alive. 

“ I think I may trust you, my lad,” said the lieutenant, looking 
hard at me. “ But who will be answerable for you?” 

“ Mr. Merton, sir. I know he will. He has known me for some 
time,” I answered earnestly. The lieutenant smiled; he was not 
accustomed to hear a topman have a mister put to his name. “ I 
mean Joe Merton— beg pardon, sir,” said I, ‘'he was my officer for 
some years.” 

“ No offense, my man; I like to hear a person speak respectfully 
of those above him,” answered the lieutenant. “ He is your officei 
still, I fancy. Well, if you can get him to be answerable for you, 
you may go on shore for ten hours. I can not give you longer leave 
than that.” 


76 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


“ Thank you, sir; thank you,” said I, and I hurried below to 
look for Mr. Merton. I found him hard at work writing a letter to 
send on shore; but he instantly jumped up, and accompanied me 
on deck to assure the lieutenant that I would return. So on shore 
I went with great joy; but my knees almost trembled as I walked 
up the steep streets toward the part of the town where my grand- 
mother and aunt lived. I had seen a good many strange places 
since last I walked down those streets on my way to join the 
“ Kite,” and though, after thinking a moment, I easily found the 
road without asking, the houses seemed changed somehow or other. 
They were lower and narrower and less fine-looking than I ex- 
pected. At last I reached the quiet little house I knew so well. 
By climbing up an iron railing before it I could, when a boy, look 
into the parlor over the blind. There was no necessity to climb 
now. By holding on by the rail, and stretching myself upon my 
toes, I could easily look in; I could not help doing so before knock- 
ing. There I saw an old lady with a neat white cap and dressed in 
black, bending over her knitting. Her back was toward me; but 
somehow or other I did not think that it could be Granny. Her 
figure was too small and slight for that of Aunt Bretta. Who could 
it be then? My heart sunk within me. It was some minutes be- 
fore I could muster courage to knock. At last I went up to the 
door. A little girl opened it. She was deaf and dumb, so she did 
not understand what I said, and I could not understand her signs. 

‘ Come in,” said a voice from the parlor. “ Who is that? what 
does he want?” 

On this I pushed open the parlor door, and then I saw the old lady 
whom I had observed through the window, seated in an arm-chair, 
with her knitting in her hand. I looked at her very hard. “lam 
Willand, your grandchild, Granny!” I exclaimed, springing across 
the room. 

“ Young man, you have made a strange mistake,” said the old 
lady, in a voice which sent a chill through my heart. “ I never had 
a grandchild. You take me for some one else. ’ ’ 

“ Beg pardon, marm,” said I, trying to recover myself. “ I took 
you for my grandmother, Mrs. Whetherholm, who once lived here. 
1 have been at sea for many years, and have never heard from her 
or my aunt. Can you tell me where they are gone?” 

“ Sit down, young man, and let me think. I can not answer all 
in a hurry,” said she, and I thought her tone was much pleasanter 
than at first. “ Your name is Wetherholm, is it? and what ship 
did you go to sea in?” I told her. ‘ ‘ The ‘ Kite ’ ! That is strange, ” 

r- It i > 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


77 


said she. “ I should know something about that vessel. If Mar- 
garet were here, she w T ould tell me, but my memory is not as good 
as it was. You want to know where your relatives are. Now I 
come to think of it, the old lady who lived in this house before me 
had a daughter. They came, I have heard, like my poor niece’s 
family, from Shetland. Wetherholm was her name. Then I am 
sorry to say, young man, that she is dead.” 

“Dead!” I exclaimed. “Dear Granny dead!” And my heart 
came all pf a sudden into my throat, and I fairly burst out crying 
as I should have done when a boy. For some time I could not stop 
myself; but I put my face 'between my hands, and bent down as I 
sat, trying to prevent the tears finding their way through my 
fingers. I hadn’t had such a cry since I was a little boy, and then I 
felt very differently, I know. The old lady did not say a word, but 
let me have it out. 

“ That will do you good, young man,” said she at length. “ I 
don’t think the worse of you for those tears, remember that.” 

I thanked her very much for her sympathy, and then asked her 
if she could tell me anything about Aunt Bretta. 

“I can’t tell you myself,” she answeied; “but Miss Rundle, 
who lives next door, knew her well; and I’ll just send and ask 
her to step in, and she will give you all the information you want. ” 

The old lady summoned her little deaf and dumb girl, and sign- 
ing to her, in two minutes Miss Rundle made her appearance. I 
remembered Miss Rundle, and used to think her a very old woman 
then, but she did not look a day older, but rather younger than 
when I went away. I had no little difficulty in persuading her 
who I was, and at first I thought she seemed rather shocked at see- 
ing a common sailor sitting down in her friend’s parlor. However, 
at last I convinced her that I was no other than the long-lost Wil- 
land Wetherholm. She told me how my grandmother had long 
mourned at my absence, still believing that I was alive and would 
return, and always praying for my safety. At length she sickened 
—to the last expecting to see me. She had died about two years 
before; “and then,” added my old acquaintance, “ the good old 
lady sleeps quietly in the church yard hard by. I often take a look 
at her tombstone. Her name is on it; you may see it there.” 

“ That I will,” said I. “It will do my heart good to go and see 
dear Granny’s tombstone, as I can not ever set eyes on her kind 
face again.” When I asked about Aunt Bretta, Miss Rundle 
bridled up a little, I thought. 

“Well, she was my friend,” said she; “and she was a very 


78 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


good woman, and I used to have a great respect for her. Nobody 
made orange marmalade better than she did, or raspberry jam; and 
as for knitting, there was no one equaled her in all the country 
round. I have several bits of work she gave me, and I value them; 
but still I don’t see what right one’s friends have to go and demean 
themselves.” 

Rather astonished al these remarks, I asked what had happened. 

“ Why, young man, she went and got married,” said Miss Run- 
dle, drawing herself up. 

“ I don’t see any great harm in her doing that,” remarked the old 
lady. 

‘‘No, marm, notin marrying,” answered Miss Rundle, some- 
what sharply. “ It’s a very lawful state to get into, I dare say; but 
I find fault with her in respect to the person to whom she got mar- 
ried. I don’t want to offend the feelings of this young man, her 
nephew; -but what was he but a common sailor, and more than 
that, he had a wooden leg.” 

“ Aunt Bretta married to a common sailor with a wooden leg!” 
said I, scarcely knowing what I was saying, yet not thinking that 
there was anything very shocking in the matter. ‘ ‘ What sort of a 
man was he, marm? and can you tell me where they are gone, and 
where I shall find them? I long to see Aunt Bretta again. ” 

“ I won’t deny that he was a pretty good-looking man enough, 
and as we do now and then exchange letters, I can tell you where she 
is to be found,” answered Miss Rundle, softening down a little. 

‘ ‘ They live at Southsea, near Portsmouth. Her husband was an 
old shipmate of one of her brothers — your father, perhaps — and 
that is the way they became acquainted. His name is Kelson; you’ll 
find them without difficulty.” 

‘‘Aunt Bretta hasn’t any family?” said I. “ I should like to 
have a dozen little cousins to play with when I go to see her.” 

Miss Rundle looked very much shocked at the question, and said 
that as she had not been married much more than a year, that wasn’t 
very likely. 

Well, though all Miss Rundle’s talk had for the moment driven 
away my sad thought, as soon as we were silent I felt very low- 
spirited and melancholy. I said that I would go up and have a 
- walk through the church-yard, and the old lady begged that I would 
come back and take tea with her, when her niece would be there, 
who would be glad to hear me talk about the sea. Miss Rundle 
said that she had an engagement, and was very sorry she could not 
stop; but the old lady signed to the little girl to accompany me to 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 79 

point out my grandmother’s tomb, remarking that I might other* 
wise have some difficulty in finding it. 

The child tripped away before me, and we soon reached the 
church-yard. She pointed out an unpretending white little slab of 
stone in a quiet corner, with a number of wild-flowers growing 
round it, and then, looking up into my face with an earnest, com- 
miserating look, she nodded and ran off. I walked up to the stone 
and read a short inscription — 

“ELLA WETHERHOLM LIES BENEATH. 

HOPE, IF ON ME YOUR HOPE IS PLACED.” 

I felt very sad and grave, but I had no longer an inclination to cry. 
“ She wrote that for herself,” I thought. “I’ll try and hope as she 
hoped, and perhaps her prayers may lighten, if they do not remove, 
the heavy curse I brought down on my head. ” 

With regard to the curse I fancied was following me, I now 
know that I was entirely mistaken. Our loving Father in heaven 
does not curse His creatures, though He permits for their benefit the 
consequences of sin to fall on their heads. 

I will not repeat all the ideas which passed across my mind. I 
was not nearly so sad as I might have expected. I had met with 
sympathy and kindness, though from a stranger, and that lightened 
the burden; and then, though Miss Rundle was an odd creature, I 
could not help feeling pleased at seeing her again, and hearing from 
her about my aunt. I had little fear about her marriage, and I had 
every expectation of finding the sailor she had married, some fine 
old fellow well worthy of her, even though he had been all his life 
before the mast. While I was sitting down beside my grandmother’s 
grave, and thinking of the years that were past, the days of my 
childhood, and the many strange thing which had since occurred 
to me, every now and then reading over the words on the tombstone : 
“ Hope! — if on me your hope is placed,” and trying to understand 
their full meaning, and very full I found it, I happened to look up, 
and Ihen I saw at a little distance a young woman who seemed to 
have been passing along a path across the church-yard, regarding 
me attentively. She was dressed in black, which made her look 
very fair and pale, and certainly I had never seen anybody else in 
all my life who came up in appearance to what 1 should fancy an 
angel in heaven would look like. This is what I thought at the 
moment. When she saw that she was observed, she drew her shawl 
instinctively closer around her, and moved on. 


80 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


CHAPTER VI. 

First introduction to Miss Troall— Happy evening— Return on boards- An expe- 
dition planned— Attack on privateers— The boat sinks under me— Meet an 
old friend— Follow his advice— Join an American vessel— Chased again— The 
action between the British and French ships— Land our passengers— Loss of 
our vessel— Get on shore at Guernsey— La Motte and his family— Sail for 
Portsmouth. 

And so at length the dream in which I had so long indulged was 
realized. Once more I trod my native shores. Once more I had 
visited the home of my childhood. What a blank I had found! 
My lot has been that of thousands of seamen — of thousands of poor 
wanderers over the face of the globe, of every rank and in every 
clime. It is the tale which many and many a shipmate has told me 
in our midnight watch: “ I got back to the place where I was born. 
I thought to find it a home, but most of those I left were dead! the 
rest removed. All were gone. The spot which once I knew so 
well, knew me no more; so I fell in with an old messmate. We 
had a jovial spree on shore, and then, when all our cash was gone, 
we went to sea again.” Such was not my lot, though. Had I been 
inclined for a spree, which I was not, I had not time to indulge in 
it. I took a walk through some of the beautiful green lanes about 
Plymouth, and filled my hat full of wild-flowers, and then came 
back to the old lady’s house to take my tea, as I had promised. I 
opened the door without ceremony, for I forgot entirely that it was 
not my own home, and walked into the parlor, expecting to find 
the old lady. Instead of her, what was my surprise to see seated at 
the tea-table the very young woman who had been watching me in 
the church-yard! I was regularly taken aback, and stammered 
out — 

“ Beg pardon, miss, I didn’t know that there was anybody here 
but the old lady who asked me to tea.” 

“ You need not olfer any excuse; my aunt told me you were com- 
ing,” she answered, in just such a voice as I should have expected 
to hear when looking at her. 

In a very few minutes she made me quite at home, and her aunt 
came in, and we soon were talking away just as if we were old 
friends. I will not say that I forgot my grandmother and aunt, but 
I should be wrong if I did not confess that my sorrow was very 
much soothed, and what is more, that in some respects I felt happier 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


81 


than I had done for a very long time. Tea was made, and I began 
to talk to them about my adventures and my shipwrecks. 

“ The most dreadful,” said I, “ was the first, when I and all my 
companions nearly lost our lives aboard the * Kite.’ ” 

“ The ‘ Kite!’ ” exclaimed the young lady, “ the ‘ Kite!’ What 
do you know about her? Oh, in mercy tell me, young man!” 

I saw she was very much agitated, but as I could not tell what 
part of the narrative to pass over or to touch on slightly, I told her 
all about the vessel from tlie time we left Plymouth till we got 
aboard the French brig; especially I could not help speaking of Seton 
and his bravery, and how he was wounded, and how he entreated 
me to bear his dying messages to his family, and to the girl to whom 
he was to be married. She seemed almost breathless as I proceeded 
with my story, but every now and then she would say, ‘ ‘ Go on — in 
mercy go on.” So I continued with my story to the end; “ and,” 
said I, “ the first time I have freedom on shore, I will, please heaven, 
go and fulfill my promise to poor Seton. I remember the young 
lady’s name — Margaret Troall.” 

“ You have fulfilled it already,” said the young lady, with a fal- 
tering voice, and bursting into tears ;“ I am Margaret Troall. And 
oh, believe me, I am most grateful to you.” 

I was astonished. I found that the rest of her family in England 
were dead, and that she and her aunt had come to live at Plymouth 
just as my aunt and her husband had left the place, and they had 
taken my grandmother’s house, which was then vacant. At first, 
after all this, the young lady was very sad, but by degrees she re- 
covered her spirits, and we talked on very pleasantly till Miss Rundle 
came in. 

She wasn’t half as stiff as at first, when she saw how well I was 
received by Mrs. Sandon (that was the name of the old lady) and 
her niece, and she promised to write to my aunt to tell her that I 
was alive and well, and that she might expect to see me some day. 

“When you see her, as I hope you will soon,” said she, “re- 
member to tell her that I am looking well, and that you knew me at 
once. ’ ’ 

“ That I will, Miss Rundle,” said I; “ I’ll tell her that you look 
as young and handsome as you ever did, and for that matter younger 
to my eyes — and that’s the truth. ” 

So it was, for a boy always thinks an oldish woman older than 
she really is. Miss Rundle drew herself up, and looked quite 
pleased, and stniled and smirked, and I saw that my joking had 
gained me a place in her good graces which I never enjoyed in my 


82 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


boyish days. Well, I was very sorry when the time came for me to 
get up and return on board the frigate. I put my chair back against 
the Avail, and shook hands with all the ladies round, and they 
charged me to come and see them without fai! when I returned to 
Plymouth. Somehow or other I found myself shaking hands twice 
with Miss Troall, and she again thanked me for bringing her the 
message from him who was gone; and I heard Miss Rundle remark 
as I went out, that I was a very well-mannered young man, though 
I was a common sailor. 

It was rather later than I intended. I hurried down to the har- 
bor, jumped into a wherry, and promised the waterman half a 
guinea if I got on board before dark. 

“Why, lad, there’s no great hurry, I should think,” said he; 
“ the frigate won’t sail without you.” 

“ No; but a shipmate pledged his word for me that I would be 
back, and I must not let him break it, you know.” 

“ Well, we wasn’t so particular in my time,” said the old man. 
“ But as your gold is as good as that of any other man. I’ll do my 
best to put you on board.” 

The wind was against us, so his mate and I took the oars while 
he steered, and by dint of hard pulling we get on board just about 
ten minutes before my time was up. I told Mr. Merton how it was 
I had run the time so short, and ga re him an account of all that 
had happened to me. He was very much pleased with me at find- 
ing that I had been so anxious to come off in good time, and urged 
me on all occasions to make every sacrifice, rather than break a 
pledge of any description. Charley and I were in the same watch, 
and he was very anxious to hear how I had fared on shore. Of 
course, he could not care about my grandmother’s death, but lie 
was very much amused with my account of Miss Rundle, whom he 
remembered well. 

‘ ‘ I must go and pay her a visit the next time I can get on Shore, 
and if I can take her some Avonderful present from the other side of 
the world, I expect to cut you out in her good graces, he said, 
laughing. I asked him what he proposed taking. “An alligator, 
or a shark, or a mermaid, or an orang-outang, or something of tha i 
sort — stuffed, I mean,” he answered. 

I remembered Charley’s love of a practical joke in our younger 
days, and I did not Avish to interpose between him and the venerable 
spinster. I thought that he would not do any thin g really to annoy 
her. 

Our captain came on board the next morning in high spirits. He 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


83 


had got leave to go to Teneriffe, in company with his majesty’s 
sloop-of-war “ Talbot, ’ ’ to cut out the two West Indiamen taken 
by the French privateer. No sooner, however, did we get out of the 
Channel than we met with strong westerly winds, which nearly 
blew us back into its chops again. However, not to be daunted, 
we kept hammering away at it, and though we in the frigate made 
tolerably fine weather, those on beard the sloop had wet jackets for 
many a day. We had been out about ten days when two sails hove 
in sight, running with canvas set before the wind. One we made 
out to be a large brigantine, the other was a ship, evidently an Eng- 
lish merchantman. The ship stood on, and when we fired a gun to 
make her heave to, let all fly, while the brigantine hauled her wind 
and tried to make off. We sent a boat aboard the ship, and found 
that she was an English merchantman belonging to Bristol, which 
had been captured by the brigantine. The privateer herself be- 
longed to St. Malo, and was the very vessel which had taken the two 
West Indiamen we were going to cut out. The Frenchmen taken in 
the prize gave us some useful information as to where the two 
West Indiamen were lying. 

The “ Talbot ” meantime was proceeding in chase of the priva- 
teer, and very soon coming within shot, knocked away the head of 
her mainmast and brought her to. She was an important capture, 
for she had committed a great deal of mischief, and, to our no 
small satisfaction, she had a considerable sum of money on board 
her, which she had taken from various captured vessels. Prize 
crews being put on board the two vessels, we proceeded on our 
course, thrashing away in the teeth of the south-westerly gale. 
However, at last, in about three weeks, we sighted the island of 
Teneriffe, and hove to that we might make arrangements for the at- 
tack. This was on the 8th of December. At about four o’clock in 
the afternoon, all the boats assembled round the frigate under the 
command of our first lieutenant. We had four boats, and there 
were three belonging to the corvette. I was in the boat with the 
first lieutenant. She was a very fine, fast boat, pulling six oars. 
Merton, who had volunteered, was in one of the other boats, under 
the command of one of the master’s mates of the frigate, and 
Charley Iffley was with him. When all was ready, the signal was 
given, and with three hearty cheers we shoved off from the frigate’s 
side. We acted as a sort of whipper-in to the other boats, and we 
kept pulling about among them to keep them together, our lieuten- 
ant dropping a word to one and then to another, just to make the 
people laugh and to keep them in good spirits. It was some hours 


84 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


after dark, and nearly ten o’clock, as we approached the harbor of 
Santa Cruz. We then had all our oars muffled, and in perfect 
silence we entered the harbor, all keeping close together. As we 
got well in we lay on our oars for a minute, to make sure which 
were the two ships to be attacked. We made them out through 
the darkness. Four boats were to attack one ship, under the com- 
mand of our lieutenant, while the three others pulled away to the 
second ship. The signal was given, and dashing off at full speed, 
we were alongside in a moment. 

The Frenchmen little expected us, but they flew to their arms and 
made a stout resistance. Some were cut down— others were hove 
overboard — the cables were cut — our men flew aloft to loosen sails, 
and as quickly almost as I take to tell the story the ship was under 
way and standing out of the harbor. The other three boats were 
not so fortunate. The noise we made in attacking the first ship, 
our shouts, and the cries and curses of the enemy, aroused the peo- 
ple of the second ship, so that they had time to man their guns, of 
which she carried ten, before the boats got alongside. Our com- 
manding officer, seeing this, ordered one of the midshipmen to take 
charge of his boat, in which I was, and of another in which was Mr. 
Merton, to go to the assistance of our shipmates. With hearty 
cheers, to show that aid was coming, we pulled away toward them, 
but as we advanced we were received with a hot fire of musketry 
and round shot. The officer in the other boat, which was close to 
us, was killed, but Merton sprung to the helm, and cheering on the 
men, they pulled up toward the ship. Just then a round shot struck 
our boat, cutting her right in two, killing one man, and wounding 
two. Instantly she began to fill, and very soon we could not move 
her through the water. She was sinking under us. The shot came 
round us thick as hail. I could not see where the other boats were, 
or what had become of my shipmates, but I caught a glimpse of the 
ship standing out of the harbor. I thought I heard Mr. Merton’s 
voice shouting out to the people, and I was pretty certain he was 
doing something; but what with the darkness, and the firing, and 
the confusion and noise, it was some little time before I could 
decide in which way to strike out. What became of my companions 
in the boat I could not tell. Looking up, I saw a vessel not far off 
from me, and so I swum away with all my strength toward her. 
I got hold of her cable and rested myself, hoping to see some of the 
boats, or perhaps the second ship; but when 1 looked round I saw 
that there was little chance of our people taking her, for she 
mounted, as we knew beforehand, ten guns, and that a strong crew 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


85 


had been put on board her was evident from the hot fire she kept 
up. 

The Spaniards had aroused at last, and the forts were blazing 
away at the boats which were pulling with all their might down the 
harbor. All hope of regaining the frigate must therefore, I saw, 
be abandoned. The vessel I was hanging on to was a large 
schooner. Her people were all on deck, and, to my great satisfac- 
tion, I heard them talking English. By this I knew that she was 
an American, and I determined to trust to their kindness. I there- 
fore hailed, “ Schooner, ahoy! Just heave me a rope, will you, to 
save me from drowning.” 

“ Well, I don’t mind if I do, ’’said a man, looking over the bows; 
and he heaving me a rope’s-end, I quickly hauled myself up on 
board. 

I found myself among three or four of the schooner’s crew. 
“You must come along aft to the mate,” said one of them. 

I accordingly accompanied them aft, where we found the mate, 
who asked all about me, and I told him how we had come into the 
harbor to cut out the two West Indiamen. 

“Well, small blame to you, mv man,” said the mate. “We 
don’t wish you ill, but we must see what the captain has to say to 
you.” 

The captain was on shore, but as soon as the firing was over he 
came on board. Meantime I watched as far as I could what was 
taking place, and I had the satisfaction of seeing one of the ships 
get out of the harbor, and I hoped the boats had reached her also. 
The American crew seemed inclined to treat Ine very civilly; and 
when the captain came off, and I told him all that I had told the 
mate, “Well, my man,” said he, “I am sorry for it, but I am 
afraid that I must take you before the Spanish governor to-morrow 
morning; because if I do not, I may get myself into trouble. How- 
ever, go below, and get your wet clothes shifted. You shall have 
some food and a glass of grog, and we’ll see about it in the morn- 
ing.” 

I went below. I was soon rigged out in warm dry things, had a 
jolly hot suppej, and I must say was never more kindly treated in 
my life. When I turned in, I felt that I ought to be thankful that 
I had not been killed like some of my shipmates. But still I could 
not help thinking, “ The curse is still following me— the boat I was 
aboard was the only one destroyed.” 

The next morning, when I went on deck, I saw one of the officers 


86 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


doing duty. I looked at him hard. I was certain I knew his face. 
I put out mj 7- hand. “ La Motte,” said I, “ do you know me?” 

‘‘I should think I did indeed, Weatherhelm,” he answered, 
laughing, and shaking my fist warmly; “it is a good many years 
since we saw each other.” I told him that the captain said he 
would have to take me to a Spanish prison. “ Oh, that is all non- 
sense,” he answered; “ I’ll soon manage that. All you have to do 
is to join this craft, and we can protect you. I’ll just say that you 
are an old shipmate of mine, and I’ll soon make it all right.” 

Accordingly he took me to the captain, who was too glad to get 
an able seaman on board his vessel, and he promised me if I would 
sign the articles that I should have thirty dollars a month. I had 
not much difficulty in balancing this offer against the prospect of a 
Spanish prison. Now I honestly believe, that had she been a 
privateer, and I should have had to fight against my own countrymen, 
nothing would have tempted me to accept the offer. However, I 
decided at once. “ I’ll join you,” said I, ** and am ready to sign 
the articles whenever you like.” 

That evening I found myself, like many other British seamen, 
converted suddenly into an American. La Motte told me that he 
had been wrecked on the American coast, and having been kindly 
treated, he had joined one of their merchantmen, when shortly 
afterward he was made a mate. The schooner was called the 
“ Skylark, ” and was a remarkably fine and fast vessel. At that 
time, while all the rest of the world were at war, the Americans re- 
mained neutral, and their merchantmen made a great deal of money 
by becoming the carriers for all the belligerent parties. This was a 
wise policy in all respects, but still wiser would they have proved 
themselves had they adhered to it. While it brought wealth and 
prosperity to their newly established republic, it laid the foundation 
of that naval power which enabled them to contend for a time even 
with England herself, and has since enabled them to take an im- 
portant part in the transactions of the world. The schooner had 
been employed to bring out a new governor for the islands from 
Cadiz, and she was waiting to convey the former one back to 
Spain. He, however, was not ready, and the schooner was detained 
a long time. Still I had no reason 1o complain. Teneriffe was a 
very pleasanl place; the captain and first mate of the schooner were 
very kind sort of men, and La Motte, for old friendship’s sake, did 
his best to make my life agreeable. Perhaps, had we been less 
idle, it would have been better for us all. The great difficulty the 
officers had, was to find work for the men. We painted and pol- 


d 


WILL WEATHEEHELM. 


81 


ished, and scrubbed and used up every particle of rope-yarn, and 
turned in all the rigging afresh before Senor Don Longwhiskerandos 
announced that he was ready to take his departure. 

The voyage was not to be without danger, for there were English 
cruisers watching all the Spanish and French ports; and though they 
could not have touched us on the high seas, they would have made 
prize of us, had they caught us trying to enter an enemy’s port. I 
never heard the real name of the governor. We called him Don 
Longwhiskerandos just for shortness’ sake, for it was fully three 
times as long as that. . He looked a very important personage, and 
awfully fierce, and did little else than smoke cigars, and let a black 
man attend on him as if he was a mere baby. We had fine weather, 
and the Don sat on the deck in great state, when a sail was made 
out on our weather quarter. As she drew near there could be little 
doubt from her appearance that she was an English frigate. I 
borrowed a glass from La Motte. I took a long, steady look at her, 
and I felt certain that she was my old ship the “ Brilliant.” Mean- 
time uur helm was put up, and off we went before the wind to en- 
deavor to increase our distance. She made sail of course in chase, 
and I began to consider whether it would not have been better to 
have gone to a Spanish prison than be taken as a deserter, and 
cruelly flogged, if not hung. 1 pictured all sorts of dreadful things 
to myself, and earnestly prayed that the schooner might escape the 
frigate. If I was in a fright Don Longwhiskerandos was in a still 
greater. He tore his hair and wrung his hands, ana walked about 
the deck uttering all sorts of extraordinary expressions, calling on 
I don’t know how many saints to come and help him — while Llackie 
followed him with his snuff-box and a handkerchief and seemed 
trying to console him. La Motte, however, laughed at my appre- 
hensions. He said that of course it was known that I had not will- 
ingly left the ship, and that I had a right to save my life in the best 
way I could. Still I was not satisfied. On came the frigate. We 
pressed the schooner with all the canvas she could carry. She 
walked along at a great rate, and so did the frigate. A stern chase 
is a long chase, but I had very little expectation that we should 
escape. If we could keep ahead till night, then we might have a 
better chance. 

It was well on in the afternoon when we saw two sail ahead. 
From the whiteness of their canvas and the squareness of their 
yards, they were evidently men-of-war. If they should prove En- 
glish cruisers, we were fairly caught in a net, and Don Whisker- 
andos would have very little chance of seeing his wife and family 


88 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


for a long time to come. Still our captain was a resolute man, and 
one who would never give in while a prospect of escape remained 
The helm was put down, and we kept Up five or six points toward 
the French coast, thinking that we might keep clear of them all till 
night set in, and might then escape in the darkness. The officers 
kept their glasses on the strangers. One was a frigate, the other a 
corvette. They made sail when they saw us. Evening was closing 
in. ‘'Hurra, my lads,” shouted our captain, “up go the French 
colors. I thought by the cut of their canvas they were Frenchmen, 
and our friends!” How strangely those words sounded in my ears! 
To be glad to fall in with Frenchmen, and to call them our friends! 

Once more we altered our course. In a short time the ships of 
war made out the English frigate, and allowing us to go ahead, then 
clewed up their topsails and waited for her. She saw them, and 
nothing daunted, under all sail stood on to close them before night- 
fall. Now, for the first time, I felt a little regret that I was not on 
board my own ship, she looked so proud and bold going into action 
against so superior a force. Oh, how I wished that I could find 
myself on her deck alongside my former shipmates, whom I pict- 
ured to myself standing at their guns, bared to the waist, with 
handkerchiefs round their heads, looking stem and grim as became 
men about to fight with heavy odds, yet every now and then cutting 
a joke with each other in the exuberance of their spirits. I thought 
if I could now but jump overboard with something to float me till 
she came up, and then I would climb up her side, and say that I 
had come to join them. Still, when I thought again, I knew that 
she was not likely, even if I was seen, to heave-to to pick me up, 
and I abandoned the idea as too hazardous. As the frigate got up 
to them the two French ships let fall their canvas, and began to 
maneuver to gain the weather- gage; but she was too quick for 
them, and getting up to the corvette first, gave her such a dose 
from her broadside as must have made the Frenchmen dance to a 
double-quick tune. Our captain’s object was to land his passen- 
gers, so of course he could not stop to see the result of the action. 
As we ran out of sight all three ships were hotly engaged. “ Well, 
if there’s one man on board who will do his duty, and show what 
real Englishmen are made of, it’s Joe Merton,” I said to myself. 

For some time after nightfall I could hear the sound of their 
guns borne over the calm waters, and then all was silent, and we 
continued our course to the French coast. Two days after this we 
were again chased by an English sloop-of-war; but the “ Skylark ” 
showed a faster pair of heels than she did, and we ran her out of. 


WILE WEATHERHELM. 


89 


sight. At length, after being chased away from various ports, we 
entered the mouth of the Gironde River in France, which runs down 
from Bordeaux. . We Avere some days getting up to Bordeaux, 
where we landed Don Longwhiskerandos and his black slave and all. 
his property, and hoped to get a return cargo. But there were no 
freights to be had; so, as the Don described the schooner as being 
a very fast craft, the French Government offered a large sum for 
her, which our captain was too glad to accept. The mates and 
crew accordingly received their wages, and we were all turned 
adrift. Now 1 found that there was a great chance of my being in 
a much worse condition than ever. Of course I hailed as an 
American, and if the police had found me on shore without a ship 
I should have been seized and sent to serve on board a French man- 
of-war. On every account I must avoid that, I felt. In the first 
place, I did not wish to serve with Frenchmen; and in the second, 
had any ship I might have been in been captured, I should have 
been looked upon as a deserter and a traitor, and very likely shot. 

La Motte, as an English subject, was in the same condition, ex- 
cept that he had never served on board a man-of-war. Accordingly 
he and I talked the matter over before we left the schooner, and 
agreed that it would never do to trust ourselves on shore. We saw 
ahead of us a ship under Hamburguese colors, taking in a cargo of 
wine for Hamburg, which was a free port. When, therefore, we 
left the schooner, we pulled alongside, and asked if she wanted 
hands. The captain said yes; he would ship us at once. He spoke 
very good English, and the mate we had reason to suspect was an 
Englishman, as were several of the crew. So much the better, we 
thought. I at all events was very glad to get to sea. Four or five 
days afterward, just as we got into Ihe English Channel, the cap- 
tain called us aft, and told us that, instead of going to Hamburg, 
he expected to proceed to London; but that he had received direc- 
tions to put into the Island of Guernsey first to wait for orders. I 
was very glad to hear this news, for I thought there was a chance 
of my seeing old England again sooner than I had expected. 

“ Yes, that may be very true,” observed La Motte. “ But how 
will you see it? The first night you put your foot on shore you 
will be pressed to a certainty, and quickly find yourself on board a 
man-of-war, and a slave as before.” 

‘No, not a slave,” said I, indignantly. “I’d rather go and 
serve willingly than be pressed, that’s the truth; but no one has a 
right to call British men-of-war’s men slaves. They may be pretty 
hardly tasked sometimes; but they get pay and prize-money and 


90 


WILL WEATHER-HELM. 


liberty, and if they did but know how to take care of their money, 
and would but conduct themselves like rational beings, the good 
men would hare no reason to complain.” ' The truth M r as, that La 
Motte had got the notion entertained by most merchant seamen, and 
encouraged by shipowners as well as masters and mates, that men- 
of-war were all alike, little better than hells afloat; that all naval 
officers were tyrants, and all men-of- war’s men miserable, spiritless 
slaves. Why, even in those times they were generally better treated 
than merchant seamen, and now the lot of the two can not be com- 
pared. There’s no class of men better cared for, better fed, better 
clothed, and more justly treated, than the British man-of-war’s 
man. I don’t want to cry down the merchant service, or owners or 
officers of merchant ships, but this I will say, that the most com- 
fortable, happy merchantmen I have seen have been those com- 
manded by naval officers. 

We were within half a day’s sail of Guernsey, and were expect- 
ing to get in there next morning, when a heavy gale sprung up 
from the northwest, and before we could take the canvas off the 
ship — for we were very short-handed — every yard of it was blown 
out of the bolt ropes. We were in a bad way, for we were already 
too much to the southward. Still our captain hoped, if we could 
bend fresh sails, to weather the islands; but all that nook of the 
coast is full of rocks and dangers, and tides setting here and there, 
so that it is difficult to tell where a ship will be drifted to. Twice 
we tried to bend fresh sails; but each time they were blown away, 
before we could hoist them to the yards. Darkness came on. Two 
of our shipmates were hove off from the lee yardarm, and their 
despairing shrieks reached our ears as they drifted away, a warn- 
ing to us of what might be our fate. 

“ We have some Jonah on board,” I heard the first mate observe 
to the second. He was a rough sailor, such as are not often met 
with nowadays, though then they were common. “If we could 
find him we would heave him overboard. ” 

I remembered too well what I had often thought about myself, 
and felt thankful that I had kept my own counsel since I was on 
board, and had not told my story. The night came on very dark. 
I do not believe anybody in the ship knew exactly where, we were. 
Several hours of deep anxiety passed away. The ship began to 
labor dreadfully. All we could hope was that, when daylight re- 
turned, we might find ourselves clear to the northward of all 
dangers, and then with tolerable sea-room we might expect to make 
sail so as to carry the ship into an English port. Vain were our 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


91 


hopes. Suddenly there was a cry, “ Breakers ahead! breakers on 
the lee beam!” The ship struck, again and again, with terrific 
violence. The masts went by the board; then she seemed to be 
lifted over the ledge, and we found her floating in smoother water. 
We hoped that we were in some bay where we could bring up and 
ride out the gale; but it was too dark for us to distinguish our 
position. The captain had just given the order to let go an anchor, 
when the fearful cry was uttered, “ The ship is sinking! the ship is 
sinking!” 

“ Get the boats out, my men; no hurry, now!” cried the captain; 
but it was not quite so easy to obey the order or to follow the ad- 
vice. The long-boat was stove in; but we had a gig and a whale- 
boat hanging to the ship’s quarters. We ran to the falls. La 
Motte and I, with some others, leaped into the whale-boat jusl as 
the ship sunk beneath our feet. We shouted out to the rest of our 
shipmates that we would try to pick them up, but we could see no 
one. Though' I said the sea was calmer than on the other side of 
the reef, still we had no little difficulty in keeping the, boat from 
swamping. We could not tell either in which direction to pull. 
All we could do, therefore, was to keep the boat’s head to the sea, 
and wait till daylight, which we knew was not far off. At length 
it came, as it always comes at last to the weary and the watchful, 
if they will but patiently wait for it. As the dawn gradually broke 
we found that we had been drifted into a bay, and that the shore 
was not four hundred fathoms from us. There was a good deal of 
surf breaking on it, so that it was necessary to use caution in land- 
ing. Waiting our opportunity, we gave way and drove the boat 
high up on the beach. A sad sight met our view; the sand on each 
side was covered with portions of the wreck and casks of wine, 
many of them stove in; but sadder far it was to see the bodies of 
our late shipmates hove up dead on the beach, while one or two 
were still washing to and fro in the surf, as if the sea were yet loath 
to give up its dead. Perhaps there is no more melancholy sight 
than that for a seaman to behold. We examined the bodies; they 
were all dead; but as we looked about we came upon some marks of 
feet in the sand, leading up the beach, and this gave us hopes that 
some of our companions had escaped. I saw La Motte looking in- 
quiringly about him. I asked him if he knew where we were. 

“Yes, that I do,” he answered. “At no great distance from 
my home. Come along with me, Weatherhelm. My family will 
be glad to welcome an old shipmate.” 

Just as the sun got up we saw several people approaching, and 


92 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


were truly glad to find among them our captain and three of the 
crew. They took charge of the men who had been saved with us, 
while 1 set off with La Motte to his home. It was a large farm- 
house standing by itself. He looked round the building, and in at 
one or two of the windows, but could not make up his mind how to 
announce himself. “Iam afraid of giving some of them a fright 
if I were to appear too suddenly, ’ ’ he said. At last he told me 
that I must go in and tell them that I was a shipmate of his, and 
that he would be there soon. So I opened the door, and ap old 
lady came out and spoke to me, but I could not understand a word 
she said, and then an old gentleman made his appearance, with 
white hair, with a long red waistcoat and great-coat, but he could 
not help on the conversation. At last they went to the back of the 
house, and called “Janette! Janette!’ and a young girl, with her 
petticoats tucked up, came tripping in, as if she had just been milk- 
ing the cows, and she asked me, in broken English, what I wanted; 
and when I replied that I knew Jacob La Motte, and was a ship- 
mate of his, they seemed very much interested, and not a little 
agitated. When I saw this I thought the sooner I told them that 
he was all right and well the better, and then, to their astonishment, 
I ran out of the house and called him, and he soon had both them 
and several other young boys and girls all hanging round his neck, 
and kissing him and asking him all sorts of questions. I envied 
him — I could not help it. I had no father or mother, or brothers 
or sisters, to care for me, so even at that moment I felt very deso- 
late and forlorn. However, they soon recollected *me, and then 
they all did their best to make me happy and comfortable. 

The days passed very quickly away. I never had been so happy 
and merry in my life. Though the old people could not speak En- 
glish they understood it a little, and I soon picked up French 
enough to make out what I wanted to say; and then all the young 
people could talk English, though among themselves they always 
spoke French. As we lived on so quietly and peaceably in that 
pretty farm-house, no one would have supposed that all the horrors 
of war were being enacted in the surrounding seas. It might have 
been supposed that neither of us would ever have wished to 
leave those quiet scenes, but after a time La Motte began to 
grow fidgety, and said he must think of getting employment. 
At last away he went to Peter- !e-port, the only town in the 
island. He was away three or four days, and when he came back 
he told me that he had taken service on board a privateer, one 
of the fastest craft out of the island/ “ She is called the ‘ Hiron- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


93 


delle,’ ” he said. “ You never set eyes on a more beautiful craft. 
She is lugger-rigged, mounts sixteen guns, and will carry a hun- 
dred and twenty hands, all told, fore and aft . There is nothing 
will look up to her. -I could not resist the temptation of joining 
her. Her crew will have six months’ protection from the press- 
gang. That alone is worth something. How is your opportunity, 
Will, for making your fortune. Don’t throw it away. By the 
time you are paid off you’ll have your pockets full of money, and 
then come and settle down here. That is what I intend to do.” 

His reasonings and arguments seemed irresistible. Still I held 
off. I was balancing between my wish to go and see Aunt Bretta 
at Southsea and the old lady and her niece at Plymouth, and trying 
to find my way back to my ship. I had an idea that the latter was 
the right thing to do. Still, unhappily, I had not always been ac- 
customed to do what was right, and now found it easy to do what 
was wrong. I told him, in reply, what I wished to do, and what I 
thought I ought to do; but he laughed at all my reasonings, and 
before the day was over I had consented to go and enter on board 
the lugger. In those days not many people thought there was any 
harm in privateering. Many do not think so now. Still there were 
some w T ho looked upon it as little better than a sort of lawful piracy, 
and made but little scruple in running down an enemy's privateer. 

I found the “ Hirondelle ” everything La Motte had described 
her. We had not been out a week before we had taken a couple of 
prizes, and we recaptured a number of English vessels which had 
been taken by the enemy and were on their way into French ports. 
As we were low in the water and had short sturrps for masts, by 
lowering our sails we could lie concealed till we could make out 
what sort of craft were heaving in sight. We therefore ran but 
little risk of catching a Tartar, as privateers very often do. 

I remained in the privateer upward of a year and a half, and at 
last peace came, and the crew were paid off, and she was laid up. 
Though I had spent my money pretty freely when I was on shore, 
still I found that, what with wages and prize-money, I had fully 
four hundred pounds in my pocket. This I might well look on as 
a hanusome fortune to begin life with on shore, and carefully 
managed it was enough to set a young man up in business. I have 
known numbers of seamen go on shore with far larger sums, and 
spend the whole in the course of a few days, but then they have 
never — poor ignorant fellows!*— read the book of Solomon, or, if 
they have, profited by the wise advice contained in it. I spent a 
few days with the La Motte family, but the thoughts of Aunt 


94 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


Bretta, and still more, perhaps, that quiet evening spent at Plymouth, 
were constantly coming into my mind; and wishing him and them 
good-bye, I shipped myself and my fortune aboard a cutter bound 
for Portsmouth. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Encounter my new uncle— Aunt Bretta’s home— Happy meeting— Settle at 
home— A description of my uncle— Old Jerry Vincent— His Stories— The 
smoke- worms, and his cruise round the Isle of Wight. 

On reaching Portsmouth, I buttoned my money tight up in my 
pockets, for, thought I, “ I’ll have no land- sharks taking it from 
me in the way many poor fellows have lost all the profits of their 
toils.” I had no difficulty in finding my way through the gate 
under the ramparts to Southsea Common, and then I turned to the 
left till I reached a number of small, neat little houses. The fine 
big mansions and great hotels which stand there now were not built 
in those days. I walked up and down for some time trying to 
discover the house my aunt lived in from what Miss Rundle had 
told me, but 1 could not make up my mind to knock at any door 
by chance to inquire. Al last I saw a stout, fine sailor- like looking 
man come stumbling along the road on a wooden leg. I looked at 
his face. He had a round, good-natured countenance, somewhat 
weather-beaten, with kind-looking eyes, and a firm mouth, full of 
fine white teeth. 

“ You’re the man who will give me a civil answer at all events, 
and may be help me to find my aunt, so I’ll just speak to you,” I 
thought to myself. “Please, sir,” said I, stepping up to him, 
“ can you tell me if a young woman called Bietta Wetherholm lives 
'any way handy here?” He looked at me very hard as I spoke, with 
some surprise in his countenance. Then I recollected myself; “that 
was her name, I mean, sir,” said I; “it’s now Mrs. Kelson, I 
am told. Her husband is Tom Kelson. Yes, that’s his name. ” 

“I think I can show you the house, young man,” said the 
stranger, casting his eye all over me. “..You are a stranger here.” 

“Yes, sir,” said I, “this is the first time I have been at Ports- 
mouth. I’ve been knocking about at sea all my life. There are 
very few days in which I have set foot in England since I was a 
little boy. ’ ’ 

“Just paid off from a ship, I suppose?” 

“ Yes, sir,” said I, “ a few days ago.” 

“ Ah, I see, come round from Plymouth,” he remarked, stump- 
ing on at a pace which kept me at a quick walk, 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


95 


I always addressed him as sir, for I thought very likely he was a 
post-captain, or perhaps an admiral. I did not like, therefore, to 
say that I had just come from Guernsey, as he would at once have 
guessed that I had been serving on board a privateer, and I knew 
that many officers did not at all like the calling. I therefore said, 
“ I beg pardon, sir, but I fear that I am taking you out of you r 
way.” 

“ Not in the least, young man,” he answered in a good-natured 
tone. “ Your way is my way.” 

“ Well, you are indeed a very civil, kind gentleman,” I thought. 
Then all of a sudden I remembered the land-sharks I had been 
warned against, but when I looked in his face I felt certain that he 
was not one of them. 

“ And so you have heard speak of Tom Kelson,” said he, look- 
ing at me. 

“ Not much, sir,” I answered. “ There’s a lady down at Ply- 
mouth whom I know, Miss Rundle, who just spoke about him, and 
told me about my aunt’s marriage, and how she didn’t quite 
think — ” 

“ Oh, never mind what Miss Molly Rundle thought,” said he, 
laughing, as he pushed open the door of a house and walked in. 

“ You’ll find Mrs. Kelson in there,” and he pointed to a parlor on 
one side of the passage. “ Here, Bretta, come down; here’s a young 
man come to see you. Who he is I don’t know. He’s a friend of 
Molly Rundle’s, that is all I can make out,” I heard my new friend 
hail at the foot of the stairs. 

I found myself in a very pretty, neat little sitting-room, with the 
picture of a ship over the mantel- piece, and lumps of coral and large 
shells, and shell flowers, on it, and bows and arrows, and spears 
and models of eastern craft, and canoes from the Pacific, and some 
stuffed birds and snakes, and, indeed, all sorts of curious things 
arranged in brackets on the walls, or nailed up against them, or 
filling the shelves of cabinets. Indeed, the room was a perfect 
museum, only much better arranged than museums generally are. 

I had some little time to look about me. “Well, Aunt Bretta is 
comfortably housed at all events,” I thought to myself. 

At last the door opened, and a portly fair dame, with fair hair and 
a pleasant smile on her countenance, entered the room. “ Who are 
you inquiring for, young man?” said she, dropping a sort of 
courtesy. 

I looked at her very hard without answering. “Yes, it must be 
Aunt Bretta,” I thought. “But if it is her, she is a good deal 


96 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


changed. And yet I don’t know. Those kind eyes and that smile 
are just the same. Oh, yes, it is her.” “Aunt Bretta,” I 
exclaimed, running toward her; •“ don’t you know me? I’m Will- 
and Whetherholm, your nephew!” 

“You my nepLew! I heard that without doubt he was dead. 
Yet let me look at you, boy!” she exclaimed, taking both my hands 
and fixing her eyes on my countenance. - “ Yes, you are Willand — 
you are my own dear boy — welcome, welcome back to life, and to 
one who loved you as her own son ! ’ ’ And she flung her arms round 
my neck and burst into tears. “ Oh, Willand, had but dear mother 
been alive, how it would have done her heart good to see you! She 
never ceased talking of you, and always felt sure that you would 
come back when you could. ’ ’ 

I will not describe the scene any further. I pretty nearly cried 
too — indeed I am not certain that I did not, but they were tears of 
happiness, and not yet entirely of happiness. There was sorrow for 
one I had lost — regret for my own obstinacy and thoughtlessness, 
and many other emotions mingled with the satisfaction of finding 
myself under the roof of one in whom I had the most perfect confi- 
dence, who I knew loved me sincerely. I think I have said it be- 
fore, but if not, I now urge those who are blessed with real friends, 
to prize the love their hearts bestow as a jewel above price, which 
wealth can not purchase, and which, let them wander the world 
round, they may never find again. 

After my aunt and I had sat a little time, in came the fine old 
gentleman I had met. I now guessed who he must be. He very 
quickly understood who I was. “You are not the first seaman I 
have known who has been lost for years, and has at Iasi turned up 
again when he was least expected,” said he; “but welcome, 
Willand, I’m very glad to see you, and to own you for my 
nephew.” He very soon gave evidence of the sincerity of his 
words, for a kinder, better-hearted man I never met, and I felt 
thankful that Aunt Bretta had married a man so well worthy of 
her. 

My uncle accompanied me back to the inn where I had left my 
chest and bag, and we got a porter to carry them to his house; and 
now, for the first time since I went to sea, I found myself settled 
with my relations quietly on shore. I had been very happy with 
the La Mottes, but still they were strangers. My kind aunt never 
seemed tired of trying to find out what \yould please me. She had 
done something to spoil me as a boy — it appeared as if there was a 
great probability of her spoiling me as a man. We had much to 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


97 


talk about. I told her of my falling in with the old lady at Ply- 
mouth, and of my visit 1o my grandmother’s tomb. I found that 
Miss Rundle had never written to her, or if she had written, the 
letter had not reached her. 

“ I suspect that she was afraid I might answer her letter, and she 
did not like the idea of having to pay the return postage. It shows 
that she does not consider my friendship worth ninepence.” 

Still I was surprised that Miss Rundle had not written, as she had 
so positively promised to do. I could not exactly make it out. I 
found that my aunt knew nothing of old Mrs. Sandon and her 
niece. She was very much interested with my description of the 
young lady. “ So, Willand,” said she, “ I hope you will go back 
to Plymouth and find her out again. There are very many good 
girls in the world, but, like sweet violets, they often bloom unseen, 
and it is not so easy to find them. From what you tell me of her, 
and I can bring her clearly before my mind’s eye, she is just the 
sort of person to make a man a good wife, and I hope that you may 
be able to win her.” Now, when my aunt spoke thus, I laughed, 
and said that I had not thought of settling, and that it was not likely 
I should win a young lady like her, who was a great deal too good 
to be the wife of a foremast-man like me, and anything else I never 
expected to be. 

“You need not say that, Willand,” replied Aunt Bretta. “I 
have something to say to you on that subject. You must know, 
Willand, that your father left some money to your grandmother for 
her life, and afterward it was to go to you; but when you were sup- 
posed to be dead I took possession of it. Now, my dear boy, that 
you have come back, your uncle and I have been preparing to give 
it up to you. It is yours by every law of right, so do not say a 
word about it. We can manage very well without it.” 

“ Indeed, I will not deprive you of a farthing of it, dear aunt!” I 
exclaimed. “ I would rather go to sea for a dozen years longer and 
never come back again, than take the bread out of your mouths. I 
won’t take it, so don’t be pressing it on me. I have got plenty 
without it. There, take care of that.” And I gave her the cash I 
had been carrying in my pocket. “You can make me your heir, 
if you like, and I hope it will be a very long time before I come into 
my fortune. ’ ’ 

My uncle soon after came in, and we had a long talk over the 
matter. I succeeded at last in making them keep the money. The 
fact was, I knew myself better than they knew me, and I felt pretty 
certain that some day or other I might spend it all, and nobody 


98 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


would be the better for it. This affair settled, we lived together 
still more pleasantly than ever, for they had it off their minds, and 
I felt that I had done what was right. I found that my uncle had 
once been what Miss Rundle called a common sailor — that is to say, 
he had been mate of a merchantman, and had been pressed on 
board a man-of-war, where he had obtained a warrant as boatswain. 
While acting as such, he had lost his leg. After he had recovered 
he got command of a large merchantman, for he was a good navi- 
gator- as well as a first-rate seaman. He was not very refined, ac- 
cording to some people’s notions, I dare say, nor were some of his 
acquaintance. He valued them, as he did all things, for their ster- 
ling qualities, and cared very little for their outside. A good many 
of his old friends and shipmates used .to look in on him, and *1 was 
much struck by the kind and hospitable way in which my aunt 
always received them. “ They are my husband’s friends, and I in- 
quire no further,” she used to say. “I know that he will never 
ask anybody I shall not be glad to receive. ’ ’ 

Scarcely an evening passed without our having one or more 
guests, and this made it very pleasant. Just as we were sitting 
down to tea one evening, a ring was heard, and on my uncle’s 
opening the door (I found that he always did that sort of work), I 
heard him exclaim, “ Come in, Jerry! come in, old boy! There is 
only my nephew here, and he won’t be sorry to hear you talk, I'm 
sure.” There was a shuffling and cleaning of shoes, and then my 
uncle ushered in as odd a looking old man as I ever saw. He was 
of diminutive figure, very wizzened and wiry, with long grizzly 
hair and small bright eyes, with a wonderfully roguish expression 
in them. 

“ This is Jerry Vincent, an old shipmate of mine, nephew,” ob- 
served my uncle, as he placed a chair for the old man. “ He can 
tell you mere curious things than most people when he has a mind. 
Can you not, Jerry?” 

Our guest nodded, and his eyes twinkled curiously. 

“ Sarvant, missus; sarvant all,” said he, pulling a lock of his 
hair and putting his tarpaulin hat under the seat which had been 
offered him. “ Why, old ship, I’ve seen some rum things in the 
course of my life, and I don’t forget them, like some does,” he re- 
marked, smoothing down his hair with his long, rough, bony hand. 

I told him that I should much like to hear some of his adventures, 
but he did not become loquacious till my aunt had served him out 
three or four cups of tea, into which she poured, as if it was a usual 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


99 


thing, a few drops of cordial, a proceeding which always made the 
old man’s eyes twinkle cheerily. During the course of conversa- 
tion, I found that Jerry Vincent was not only peculiar in his appear- 
ance but in his habits also. He never by any chance, from choice, 
slept in a bed. When at sea, a caulk on a locker was the only rest 
he took, and most- of his nights, in summer, were passed under the 
thwarts of his boat. My uncle told a story of him, to the effect 
that one cold winter’s night he had gone to sleep under his boat, 
which had been hauled up and turned over on the beach, and that 
when he awoke in the morning his dog had been frozen to death, 
while he was only a little stiff in the neck. At all events, it was 
evident that he was a very hardy old man. 

“ There are many like to hear my yarns,” he observed. “ Now, 
for example, there was a gentleman down here from Lunnon, and 
he used to go out in my boat off to Spithead, and sometimes across 
to the Wight. One day I thought I would try one of my yarns on 
him, so I spun it off the reel. He said, when I had finished, that it 
was a veiy good one, though it was very short, and when he stepped 
out of the boat he tipped me half a crown. The next day I took 
him out again, and spun him another yarn rather tougher than the 
first, and he gave me three shillings. Ho, ho, thought I to myself. 
If you pay according to the toughness of a yarn, I’ll give you 
something worth your money. Well, the third day down he came, 
and said he wanted to go across to Cowes, if the tide would suit, 
and I told him it would; and now, I thought, here’s a fine time for 
spinning a long yarn. I’ll give you a tough one, and no mistake. 
Well, I spun away, and my eye if it didn’t beat the two others 
hollow! We had a pretty quick run to the Wight and back, and 
just before I landed him, * I hope you liked the story, sir,’ says I. 

‘ Very much, ’ says he. ‘ And by the by, I should pay you for it. 
Here’s a couple of shillings. ’ I looked at the coin with disdain. 

‘ Pardon, sir,’ says I; ‘ that story is worth five shillings if it’s worth 
a penny, and I can taking nothing less.’ ‘ Are you in earnest, my 
man?’ says he. ‘ Yes, sir,’ says 1; ‘the story, if written down would 
be worth ten times the money. ’ ‘ Then you are an extortionate old 

scoundrel, without a scrap of a conscience,’ says he. ‘ Hard words, 
sir,’ says I, ' but it can’t be helped. We poor fellows must submit 
to great people. ’ But all I could say wouldn’t do. He vowed that 
he would never give me anything again, and what is more, he never 
did, and never again would take my boat.” 

“ Served you right too, old ship,” said my uncle. “ You learned 
by that, I hope, that moderation is the best policy. But heave ahead. 


100 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


You are not to charge us at the rate of a shilling a fathom for your" 
yarns, remember that,” 

Old Jerry cocked his eye with a knowing wink, and began. 
“Well then, one morning after I had been sleeping up at my 
uncle’s, fpr some reason or other — it might have been that I’d had 
a drop too much the night afore, but I can’t say, as it’s some time 
ago — I don’t score those things down in my log, d’ye see — I was 
going down the street with my boat-hook in my hand— I know that 
I had the boat-hook because I took it up with me. It was rather 
dusky, so to speak, because the sun wasn’t up, nor would be for 
some hours to come, when, as I was passing a house with a deep 
porch before the door, what should I see but a big pair of fiery eyes 
glaring out at me like hot coals from a grate in a dark room. 
Never in all my life did I see such fierce red sparklers, but I never 
was a man to be daunted at anything, not I, so I gripped my boat- 
hook firmly in both hands and walked toward it. I wasn’t given to 
fancy things, and I had never seen any imps of Satan, or Satan 
himself, and never wished to see them, so I thought this might be a 
dog or a cat, maybe, troubled with sore eyes, which made them look 
red. On I marched, therefore, as steady as a judge or a grenadier 
on parade, when, just as I got near the door, a dark shaggy form 
rose up right before me, the eyes glowing redder and hotter than 
ever. It grew, and it grew, and grew, every moment getting taller 
and bigger, till it reached right up to the top of the house. I kept 
looking at it, thinking when it would have done growing; but as 
for running away, even if I had had any fancy for running, I knew 
that it would have come after me and would overhaul and gobble 
me up, in a quarter less no time, so I stood where I was, considering ' 
what would happen next. At last, thinks I to myself, you are not 
’ going to look at me in that way whatever you are; so, shutting my 
eyes, for I couldn’t for the life of me bear its glare any longer, I 
made a desperate dash at it with my boat-hook. You should have 
heard the hullabaloo there was, and I found the boat-hook dragged 
right out of my hands. I opened my eyes just in time to see the 
monster, big as he was, bolt right through the door, carrying my 
boat-hook with him. I rushed after him to try and get it back, for 
it was a new ash one I had bought but a few days before, and I did 
not want to lose it, hut I only knocked my head a hard rap against 
the door, and though 1 looked about everywhere I never could find 
it from that day to this; and that, mates, mind you, is the circum- 
stantial and voracious way Jerry Vincent lost his boat-hook.” 
And the old man gave one of his comical and expressive winks, and 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


101 


a pull at the glass of swisell which my uncle had placed by his 
side. 

‘ * Don’t you all acknowledge that that story was well worih half a 
crown to a Lonnoner, seeing as how it was quite new, and he could 
never have heard it afore? Of course you’ll all agree with me; 
now, to my mind, those Lonnoners are generally such know-nothing 
sort of chaps, though they think themselves so wise that they never 
will believe what you tell ’em. They are just like the old lady 
whose nevy had just come from sea. When he told her that he’d 
seen flying fish scores of times, she said he was trying to hoax her, 
and wouldn’t listen to him, but when he said he’d been up the Red 
Sea, and that the water there was the color of a soldier’s coat, she 
said that -she had no doubt about that, and that she was glad to 
listen to him when he spoke the truth. But,” continued Jerry, 
who had now got into his talkative vein, “ what I have been telling 
you is as nothing to what happened ‘to me soon after then. I had 
been ill for some time, and could not tell what was the matter with 
me, when I happened one day to go to Portsdown fair. I thought 
the walk would do me good, and I wanted to see some of the fun 
going on. Well, after I had been to see the beasts and the raree 
shows, and the tumblers, and theaters, and conjurers, and taken a 
turn in a roundabout, on a wooden horse, which I found more easy 
to ride than a real one, because, do ye see, the wooden one never 
kicks, while, to speak the truth, whenever I’ve got on a regular- 
built animal, he to a certainty has shied up his stern and sent me 
over his bows, sometimes right into a hedge, or a ditch, or a pond, 
or through a window, into a shop, or parlor, I happened to catch 
sight of a man standing at the end of an outlandish sort of a cart 
or a van, painted all over with red and yellow and blue and gold, 
with a sort'bf a Chinaman’s temple at one end of it. 

“ ‘ Now, ladies and gentleman,’ says he, for he was a very polite 
sort of a chap, ‘ here’s the universal ’lixier of life; it cures all com- 
plaints, and takes a man, if he has a mind to it and has proper faith 
in what it will do for him, right clear away to the end of the world. 
It’s as infallible as the Pope of Rome and all his cardinals, and is 
patronized by all the first haristocracy and clergy in the country. 
Only one shilling a bottle, ladies and gentlemen; taken how you 
will and when you will— it’s all the same— in a glass of grog, a 
bowl of punch, or a basin of pap; for old or young, for boys or 
girls, it will cure them all, and they will never feel ill again as 
long as they continue to take it. Take enough of it, and take it 
long enough, and you will see the wonders it will work.” 


102 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


“ On hearing all this I asked of those who' were looking on, who 
the chap was, and they told me he was the celebrated Doctor Gulli- 
man, who was going to send all the old regular practitioners to the 
right about, and it was wonderful what good he did, and how 
much more he would do if people would but trust him. I after- 
ward found out that the fellow who told me this was a friend of 
the doctor’s, and stood there on purpose to say a good word in his 
favor, though he pretended to have nothing at all to do with him. 

“ Well, thinks I to myself, maybe he’ll know how to cure me; so 
I made bold and went up to him. 

“ When he saw me he stooped down from his carriage, and says 
he, ‘ Well, my good fellow, what’s the matter with you? But 
never mind, whatever it is I’ll cure you. Trust Doctor Gulliman 
for that. ’ 

“I didn’t much fancy having to tell my complaint among so 
many hearers. You see my modesty stood in my way. 

“ * Come, come, tell me all about it, my good man,’ says he in 
an encouraging tone. 

“ So I put my hand on my bread-basket, and told him that I was 
troubled with pains in them parts, and that for the life of me I 
couldn’t get well, though there was seldom a night I didn’t take 
half a dozen tumblers of grog to set me to rights. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Put out your tongue, my man, ’ says he. 

“ I stuck it out so that from where he stood he could look right 
down my throat. 

“ ‘ Oh, oh! my dear man, I guessed what it was that ails you. 
But never fear, I’ll cure you in a jiffy. You’re troubled with 
smoke-worms. That’s it. And they are very dangerous things if 
you don’t get rid of them, mind that. You see this invaluable 
stuff which I hold in my hand. If you want to get cured^you must 
take six bottles of it. I don’t say but that it would be safer for you 
if you took twelve. But do as you like about that. Mix each of 
them in a stiff glass of grog. You may take three a day if you like, 
and then come back to me for more. At the end of three days — 
trust the word of an honest man and a true friend of the whole 
human race— you will be clear of them all, and every complaint 
you have at the same time. ’ 

“ Well, thinks I to myself, ‘ in for a penny, in for a pound,’ 
though there is a difference between the shilling my friend in the 
crowd said I snould have to pay and the twelve shillings the doctor 
demands. But then, to be sure, the stuff can’t be unpleasant, and 
the grog, at all events, is no bad thing. 4 Well, doctor,’ says I, 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 103 

‘ I’ll take the twelve bottles, but I should like to know what the 
stuff you give me is made of?' 

“ ‘ What!’ he sings out, drawing himself up and looking as proud 
as a prince. * What! Do you just imagine for one quarter of a 
moment that I would tell you, or any man like you, alive on this 
terrestrial sphere, vvhat my infallible Obfucastementiseoposis is 
composed of? No; not to satisfy the gaping curiosity of twenty 
such wretched creatures as you are would I reveal that golden, all- 
important, mysterious secret. If you are not content, go! Give 
me back my invaluable ’lixier and cut.’ 

“ ‘Yes, doctor,’ says I, going to give him the twelve bottles, 

* and just do you in return hand me out my twelve shillings.’ 

“ ‘ Your twelve shillings! you audacious rascal. Here’s a man 
asks me for twelve shillings in exchange for my ’lixier, which is 
worth twelve pounds at least. Ladies and gentlemen, he ain’t fit 
to be among such as you. Hoot him — hoot him — hiss him — kick 
him out from. among you.’ 

“ On this my friend in the crowd, who advised me to buy the 
st uflf, began to hoot and to hiss and to shove me about, and others 
followed his example, till I saw that there was no use of attempting 
to hold my own, and I wasn’t sorry to be able to get clear of them, 
and to bolt with a whole skin on my body, though two of the bottles 
were broken in the row. 

‘ ‘ I got home at last, not over well pleased with Doctor Gulliman 
and the way I had been treated. However, as I had paid for my 
whistle, I thought I might as well try if the stuff would do me any 
good. As soon as I got into Portsmouth I bought a bottle of old 
rum; for, thinks I to myself, if I am to take the stuff, the sooner I 
begin the better. 

“ When I reached my boat I recollected that I was engaged to go 
out to Spithead to bring on shore an officer from one of the ships 
lying there, so I stowed away a glass and a can of water, not for- 
getting the rum and ’lixier, and shoved off. I just paddled down 
the harbor, for I was in no hurry, and the ebb was making strong. 
At last says I to myself, just as I got off the kickers, ‘ I’ll just take 
a bottle of ’lixier and see how I feel after it.’ So I got a bottle, 
and poured it out, and put in some old rum, just on the top of it, 
to take the taste away, and then I took the can of water, but I 
found that there was a hole at the bottom of it, and that most of the 
water had leaked out. So, do you see, I was obliged to be very 
careful of the water, and couldn’t put much of it at a time in the 
glass. If I had, you see I shouldn’t have had any of the precious 


104 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


fluid, as they calls it, left for another glass. Well, I tossed off the 
liquid, and when I had smacked my lips, I began to think much 
better of the doctor. His stuff, you see, wasn’t so bad after all. 
Thinks I to myself, ‘ If one glass is good two must be better; so, 
before I take to the oars again I’ll have another. ’ Somehow the 
second was even better than the first. Then it struck me all of a 
heap like, that the doctor said I should take three bottles of his 
stuff In a day; so, as it was now getting toward sundown, thinks I, 

‘ The sooner I takes the third the better. ’ 

• “ Howsomedever, when I came to look at the can I found that 

every drop of water had leaked out, so I had no help for it but to 
fill the tumbler up with the rum. I can’t say it tasted bad, though 
it was, maybe, rather stiffish. Well, as the tide was sending me 
along nicely, I didn’t get out the oars again, but sat in Ihe boat 
meditating like, when all of a sudden I felt myself very queer in 
the inside, and pains came on just for all the world as if I had 
swallowed a score or two of big mackerel, and they were all kick- 
ing and wriggling about in my bread-basket. ‘ They are the smoke- 
worms the doctor told me about,’ thinks I. ‘ They don’t like the 
taste of his stuff, that’s the truth of it. ’ Well, I felt queerer and 
queerer, and Southsea Castle began to spin round and round, and 
the kickers went dancing up and down, and the ships in the harbor 
were all turning summersets, and every sort of circumvolution and 
devilment you could think of took place. Thinks I to myself, 

‘ There’s something in that doctor’s stuff, there’s no doubt about 
that, though whether it’s worth a shilling a bottle is another mat- 
ter.’ Just then I felt more queer than ever. ‘ Heugh! heugh!’ 
There was a rattling and a kicking, and such a commotion in my 
inside, and up came what I soon knew was the smoke- worms right 
out of my mouth, and overboard they went as I put my head over 
the gunwale. There was a bushel of them if there was one. 

“ Never afore nor since have I seen such things, for every 
mother’s son had hairy backs and forked tails. Yes, gentlemen 
and ladies, forked tails and hairy backs. Believe Jerry Vincent 
for the truth of what he says. The moment they got into the water 
they began to frisk and frolic about as if it was natural to them, 
and to grow bigger and bigger and bigger, till the first which came 
up was as big as a frigate’s jolly-boat. I made short work of it, an 
threw them all up till I felt there wasn’t another morsel of any one 
of them in my locker. Then thinks I to myself, ‘ It’s time to look 
out sharp, or some of these merry chaps with forked tails will be 
playing me a trick;’ for you see that they’d already begun to open 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


105 


their mouths very wide, and to splash the water right over me as 
they whisked about round the bout, just like sharks in the West 
Indies. So I got out my oars pretty sharp, and began to pull away 
toward Spithead, thinking to get clear of them, and to carry my 
freight ashore as I’d engaged to do. But I soon found that the 
smoke- worms weren’t quite so ready to part company with me, and 
as my boat began to gather way, they began to swim after her. 
The big fellow led, and all the others followed. There was hun- 
dreds of them, of all sizes, and one little chap, who brought up the 
rear, was no bigger than a sprat. After me they came with open 
mouths and big red eyes, all the hair on their backs standing up, 
and their tails whisking about like the flukes of a whale in a flurry. 
Didn’t 1 jqst pull for dear life, for I knew what they’d be after if 
they once grappled me. They would have swallowed me, every 
one of them. I soon gave up all thoughts of fetching up the ship 
I was bound for. It would never have done to have gone alongside 
one of his majesty’s crack frigates with such a train after me. I 
should have lost my character, you know. On I pulled; I didn’t 
spare the oars, depend upon it; but, somehow or other, the way in 
which the tide set, and the manner in which the brutes dodged me, 
made me go right out to Spithead, and there I found myself pull- 
ing among a whole fleet of men-of-war and Indiamen. The officers 
and ships’ companies crowded into the hammock-nettings and rig- 
ging to see me pass, and never have I heard such shouts of laughter 
as they raised as I pulled by. Neither to the one side nor to the 
other could I turn; for if I did, as surely one of the beasts would 
instantly swim up, with open mouth, and make a grab at my oar to 
keep me going straight ahead. I sung out to the people aboard the 
ships in mercy’s name to take a shot at some of the bigger brutes, 
for I thought that I could grapple with the little ones; but either 
they didn’t or wouldn’t hear me; so away I pulled right out toward 
the Nab. Thinks I to myself, * Perhaps the people in the lightship 
will lend a helping hand to an old seaman;’ but not a bit of it_ 
Wlien they saw me coming with my train of forked-tailed brutes 
after me, they sung out that I must sheer off, or they would let fly 
at me. So there I was fairly at sea, followed by as disagreeable a 
set of customers as a man ever had astern of him. 

“I didn’t bless Doctor Gulliman exactly, for I could not help 
thinking that somehow or other he had had a hand in the mystifi- 
cation. I now pulled up my larboard oar a little, and found that I 
was going right round by the Culver cliffs. ‘ Well, I’ll get on shore 
at the back of the Wight anyhow, and do them,’ I thought to my- 


106 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


self. But what do ye think; the moment I tried the dodge, the 
cunning brutes kept edging me off the land, till I saw that there 
was no hope for me but to go on. All the time they made such a 
tremendous hissing and splashing and whisking, that you’d have 
thought a whole ship’s company was washing decks above your 
head, and heaving water about in bucketsful. It was now night, 
but there was light enough and to spare to enable me to see the 
beasts as they kept way with me. I passed Sandown and Ventnor 
and Steephill, and could see the lights in the houses all along the 
shore; but as to being able to land, the wriggling brutes in my 
wake, as I said, took good care that I shouldn’t do that. By the 
time I got off St, Catherine’s my arms began to ache a bit, and I 
felt as if I couldn’t pull another stroke; but when I justiay on my 
oars to take breath and to knock the drops off my brow, which 
were falling down heavy enough to swamp the boat, the look of 
their wicked eyes and big mouths, as they came hissing up open- 
jawed alongside, set me off again pretty fast. I passed Blackgang 
Chine, and caught a sight of Brooke, and then I thought I would 
try to pull into Freshwater Gate, when I would beach the boat, and 
have a run for my life on shore, for 1 didn’t think they would come 
out of the water after me. The truth was that I couldn’t bear the 
look of them any longer; but the wriggling beasts were up to me, 
and before I had so much as turned the boat’s head toward the 
Gate, three or four of the biggest fellows ranged up on my star- 
board side,’ and cut me off. I sung out in my rage and disappoint- 
ment, but this only made matters worse, and my eyes if they didn’t 
begin to laugh at me, and such a laugh- 1 never did hear before, and 
hope I never may again. It was like ten thousand donkeys troubled 
with sore throats trying wdiich would sing out the loudest, and 
twice as many jackals mocking them, all joined in chorus. At last 
I got to Scratchell’s Bay. ‘Now’s my time,’ thinks I, ‘if they 
once get me on a course down Channel, they may drive me right 
round the world, or over to the coast of America at shortest. ’ I 
knew well the passage through the Needle rocks. The flood was 
about making. There might be just water for the boat, but none 
to spare. ‘ No odds,’ thinks I. So, while I pretended to be steer- 
ing for Portland, I shoved the boat round, and then gave way with 
a will. ‘ If I knock the boat to pieces against the rocks I shall not 
be worse off than I am now, ‘ I said to myself, as I pulled for the 
passage. I just hit it. The keel of the boat grazed over a rock 
below water; but the tide was running strong, and I shot through 
like an arrow, and there I was in Alum Bay. Now the passage was 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


107 


too narrow, you see, for the forked-tailed beasts to get through, and 
they had a good chance of hurting themselves on the rocks if they 
attempted it; so, if they had been wise as I took them for, I knew 
that they would go all the way round the outer Needle rock, and 
that this would give me a great start. Instead of lliat, in their 
eagerness to follow me, what should they do but bolt right at the 
passage. The big fellow stuck fast, and the little ones couldn’t get 
by him, and there they were, to my great delight, all knocking their 
noses against the rocks, and wriggling and hissing and struggling 
and kicking up such a row, that I thought the people at Milford 
and Yarmouth, and all along the coast, would be awoke up out of 
their quiet sleep to wonder what it was all about. However, it 
would never have done for me to lay on my oars to watch the fun, 
because I thought it just likely as not, when the tide rose, that the 
noisy brutes might shove through and be after me again, so I pulled 
away as hard as ever right up the Solent, till 1 got safe back again- 
into Portsmouth harbor. Luckily, I had the whole of the flood with 
me, or I never could have done it. My arms ached as it was not a 
little. I moored my boat securely, and as it wasn’t yet daybreak I 
lay down in the bottom of the boat, and fell asleep. I never slept 
so soundly in my life, and no wonder, after the pull I had had. 

* ‘ When I awoke the sun was shining out brightly, and I heard 
some one on board a vessel coming up the harbor hail and call 
somebody or other a drunken old rascal. Who he meant of course 
I couldn’t tell; that was nothing to me. At last I sat up in my 
boat, and rubbed my eyes, and there was the doctor’s bottles and 
the empty rum bottle and the can, without any water in it, iust as 
I left them when I was taken ill. I half expected to see the whole 
troop of wriggling, twisting, forked-tailed smoke-worms coming up 
the harbor with the last of the flood; but though I looked out till 
the tide had done they didn’t come, and it’s my belief that they 
knocked themselves about so much against the Needle rocks, that 
they put about and went down Channel; and all I can say is that I 
hope that every one of ’em was drowned or came to some other bad 
end out at sea, and that I may never as long as I live have such a 
night as the one I spent after taking Doctor Gulliman’s physic. 
Sarvant, marm and gentlemen, you’ll agree that story is worth five 
shillings. Howsomedever, I never charges my friends, but gives 
them all free gratis and for nothing.” And old Jerry gave one of 
his most knowing winks as he finished off his glass and took up his 
hat to prepare for his departure. 

I ought perhaps to apologize for giving such a story; but it is a 


108 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


* 


fair specimen of the style of narrative in which old seamen of Jerry 
Vincent’s stamp are apt to indulge, and I have heard many such, 
though seldom told with so much spirit, during my career at sea. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Visit to Plymouth— Bitter disappointment— Miss Bundle’s account of Charley — 
Voyage to Shetland— Wrecked again— Fall among friends— Near death’s 
door— Happy encounter— Description of Shetland— My residence there— 
Married— Summoned southward. 

I did not think that I should ever have got tired of living at 
Southsea with my kind aunt and fine hearty old uncle, but I had 
been so accustomed to a roving life and active employment, that in 
a little time I began to consider that I ought to be looking out for 
something to do. What to do was the question. I had a fancy for 
staying on shore after having been knocked about at sea for so 
many years, and setting up in some business. 

“ What, have you forgotten Margaret Troall?” said my aunt to 
me one day. 

The chord was struck. “ No, indeed, I have not,” said I; “ I’ll 
go and find her, and bring her back to you as my wife if she will 
have me.” 

I had given all my money to my uncle to have put safe in a bank 
for me. The next day I drew thirty pounds of it, and shipped 
myself aboard a smack bound for Plymouth. 

Strange as it may seem, all the time I had been on shore I had 
never once thought of my oath and its consequence, but scarcely 
had I got to sea than the recollection of it came back, and I fully 
expected that some accident would happen to me before I reached 
my destination. It did not, however. I landed in safety, and walked 
immediately np to the house where I hoped to find the old lady and 
her niece. How strange it seemed! I never felt in such a way be- 
fore in my life. A child might have knocked me down. I got to 
the house. How well I knew it! I looked in, as I had done before, 
at the parlor window. I fully expected to see the old lady sitting 
in her arm-chair and knitting, as I had when I was last there. My 
heart jumped up right into my throat, and then down it went I 
don’t know where. There was no old lady there; but there were 
three little children, fat, chubby, merry things, tumbling about 
head ovef heels on the floor, and shouting and shrieking with 
laughter, while a young woman sat on a low chair knitting and 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


109 


encouraging them in their gambols, while she rocked a cradle with 
he» foot. All sorts of strange thoughts came into my head. 
“ Who can she be, I wonder? Can it be?” I said. I looked at her 
very hard, but the glass was thick and dirty, and I could not make 
out her features. With a trembling hand I knocked at the door. A 
servant-girl, after a little delay, opened it. 

“ Does Mrs. Sandon live here?” I asked. 

“ No, she doesn’t,” was the short answer. 

“ Can you tell me where she lives?” I said. 

“ No; she does not live anywhere, she’s dead,” said the girl, who 
seemed determined not to throw a word away. 

“ Dead!” said I. “ Dead! just like granny,” I muttered, scarcely 
knowing what I was saying. The girl was going to slam the door 
in my face. “ Can you tell me, my good girl, who that lady is in 
the parlor?” said I, stopping her. 

“Yes, that’s Mrs. Jones,” was the answer. 

I was no wiser than before. “ Can you tell me what her maiden 
name was?” said I, in a low, trembling voice. 

“ Missus never was a maid-servant; she was always a lady, as she 
is now,” answered the girl, with a toss of her head, again attempt- 
ing to slam to the door. 

“ Stop, stop!” -I exclaimed, in an agitated manner. “ Can you 
tell me whether she was Mrs. Sandon’s niece?” 

“ She’d nothing to do with Mrs. Sandon that I knows on,” said 
the girl; “ you’re asking a lot of questions. You wouldn’t, if master 
was at home. ’ ’ 

I was fairly beaten. Just then I heard a footstep behind me, 
and on looking round, who should I see but Miss Rundle, tripping 
along the pavement up to her own door, looking as brisk and young 
as ever. 

“ Oh, Miss Rundle, I’m so glad to see you!” I exclaimed, forget- 
ting all the proprieties, and running after her. “ Can you tell me 
anything about my kind friends who lived in our old house, and 
where I met you last at tea?” I thought she w^ould have shrieked 
out when she saw me — she looked so astonished. 

“ Why, who are you? where did you come from? What do you 
want ? Why, I thought you were dead. You are not alive, are 
you?” 

“ I hope so, Miss Rundle. I fancy I am. I’ve done nothing to 
kill me lately, and I know that I was alive a short time ago,” I 
answered, laughing in spite of my agitation. 

“ Well, if you are sure that you are alive, come in here and sit 


110 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


down and tell me all about it,” said the little old lady, opening the 
door of her house with a latch-key which she drew from her pocket, 
and pointing to the parlor, which she signed to me to enter. 

I tDok off my hat and sat down, wondering what strange news I 
was to hear. She presently made her appearance, having laid aside 
her walking dress. I felt myself completely at home in a moment, 
she looked so exactly as she had done when I last saw her on that 
delightful evening I spent at Plymouth, and I so well remembered 
her in the days of my boyhood. 

“ Well, Willand, I am glad to see you,” said she in a kinder tone 
than usual. “ A young man whom you know, and whose name I 
would rather not repeat — indeed I do not like thinking about him — 
told us that you were dead — drowned or killed somehow or other at 
sea. Perhaps he had his own selfish ends to serve, or perhaps he 
believed it; we will hope for the best.” 

“ Who do you mean? What do you speak of, Miss Rundle?” I 
exclaimed, in a voice full of agitation. 

“I speak of that false deceiver, that bad, heartless fellow, Charles 
Iffley,” she answered, in a tone which showed her strong dislike to 
my former friend. “ Do you know, some time after you were here 
he returned from sea, and came up here to visit me, and talked of 
old times and old friendships, and how I had known his poor 
mother and his friends, till I was quite taken with him; and then 
he presented r$e with a stuffed parrot and two little pets of Java 
sparrows he called them (which certainly were very merry and 
hopped aoout gayly in their cage), and a dried snake, which he told 
me was a great curiosily; and he used to drop in to tea nearly every 
evening, and certainly he used to talk very pleasantly. However, 
it is not always Jhe talkers that are the best doers or the best people. 
Then he began to inquire about the ladies next door, and I invited 
them into meet him, and he made himself still more agreeable than 
ever.. This went on for some time, till I saw that he admired Miss 
Margaret, old Mrs. Sandon’s niece; however, as he had plenty of 
money, that was no business of mine. I must say that by this time 
I did not think so well of him as at first. Many things he said were 
very incorrect, and the snake he gave me began to be so disagreeable 
that I was obliged to throw it away, and my maid told me that she 
was certain the sparrows were no great things, so we examined 
them carefully, and there could be no doubt about it, they were 
merely common English sparrows painted. When he came in and 
was waiting for me sometimes (for he used to watch when I was 
out on purpose), he used to give them a touch up, and tell me that 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


Ill 


he had been washing them and restoring their plumage, and in that 
way he kept up the deception so long. An old gentleman, a friend 
of mine, who used to be fond of poking about and looking into old 
curiosity shops, happened to call, and I showed him the parrot 
which Charles Iffley told me had come from some part of Africa or 
South America round Cape Horn, only that it had died before he 
could give it to me. When my friend saw the stuffed parrot, he 
turned it about and examined it, and then showing me a ticket fast- 
ened to its claw, told me that he knew the old Jew’s shop where 
that bad fellow had bought it, and to a certainty that he had not 
given more than a shilling for it. All this was very provoking, 
and made me begin to think very differently of him to what I had 
done at first. I did fancy that he might have had some regard for 
an old friend.” And the old lady drew herself up and uttered a 
gentle sigh. “Such a dream was soon blown to the winds, ” she 
continued. “ I found that he was constantly going and calling at 
Mrs. Sandon’s, and very often he did not look in on me at all. It 
did not seem to me, however, that Margaret liked him, though I 
think her aunt thought well of him, and encouraged him to come 
to the house. He had never spoken of you, I found, till one day I 
mentioned your name, when he said, ‘ Ah, poor fellow! he was a 
great friend of mine. I first got him a ship, and helped to make a 
sailor of him. I was very sorry to lose him.’ ‘ How lose him?’ 
asked Miss Margaret gently. Then he told them how you had been 
sent away in a boat expedition to Teneriffe, to cut out some prizes, 
and that the boat you were in had been knocked to pieces, and that 
you had been either killed by the shot of the enemy, or drowned, 
and that nothing since had been heard of you. ’ ’ 

“ I can not blame Charley, then,” said I to Miss Rundle. “ I 
have no doubt that he fully believed the statement he made. Had I 
not succeeded in getting on board another vessel, I should have been 
drowned, and we have never met since. But what occurred after 
this? — go on.” 

“You shall hear. When he saw that Miss Margaret took some 
interest in you, he began to talk of you in a disparaging way, as a 
poor sort of a fellow, easily led, and that you had all sorts of strange 
fancies, which he said, he supposed had come to you with the north- 
ern blood which flowed in your veins, and then he spoke in no com- 
plimentary way of Scotland and the Orkney and Shetland people. 
He said he forgot to which you belonged. I saw the color come 
into Miss Margaret’s cheeks. ‘I belong to Shetland myself,’ said 
she. ‘ It is a country I love dearly.’ On this, the young man be- 


112 


WJLL WEATHERHELM. 


gan to apologize, and said that he was speaking without considera- 
tion; that he had known one bad Orkney man, and that was all, 
whereas he had known hundreds of bad Englishmen, and he hoped 
Miss Margaret would pardon him. She bowed, but said nothing. 
He did his best to make amends for what he had said, and certainly 
if attention would have won a woman, he would have won her. I 
could not help seeing that was his aim. However, his behavior to 
me had not made me wish to give him any help. And, do you 
know, I found that he had been speaking in a very disrespectful 
way of me. I can not repeat the names he called me. It showed 
me clearly what he was, and, though I did not like to interfere, still 
I only hoped he would not suuceed in winning that sweet girl.” 

“ Did he succeed, though?” I exclaimed, in a voice choking with 
agitation. “ Oh! tell me, Miss Rundle.” 

“You shall hear,” answered the old lady, who was not to be 
hurried with her narrative. ‘ ‘ Of course, having won the good 
opinion of the aunt was a great point in his favor. So he used to 
continue to go to the house as often as ever. He took the aunt all 
sorts of pretty presents, though he did not venture to offer them to 
Margaret. At last, however, he seemed to think that the time was 
come when he must try his chance. So he walked in and found 
Margaret in the room alone, and he told her, in an off-hand sort of 
way, that he loved her, and that, if she fvould marry him, he would 
give up the sea and live on shore, and make her comfortable nnd 
happy for the rest of her days.” 

“ Did she accept him? did she marry him?” I exclaimed, inter- 
rupting the old lady. 

“You shall hear, Mr. Whetherholm, ” she answered quietly. 
“ What woman does not feel flattered by receiving a proposal of 
marriage from a fine-looking, free-spoken young man. I’m sure I 
should.” And she put her hand mechanically before her face to 
hide the gentle blush which the thought conjured up on her cheek. 
“ She thanked him, but entreated him not to persist in his offers. 
Then she franidy told him that one she had loved had died at sea; 
that her heart was buried with him in his ocean grave; and that she 
could not marry a man she did not love. She was firm, and Charles 
Iflley could not help seeing that he had very little chance of suc- 
cess. She told me this shortly afterward. He, it seems, did not 
give up his attempt lo win her. Somehow or other, he had taken it 
into his head that she was speaking of you, though he was puzzled 
to know how you had won her heart. He returned several times to 
the house, but his chief occupation seems lo have been in abusing 


WILL WEATHEliHELM. 


113 


you. This made poor Miss Margaret fancy that you all the time 
were alive, and that he knew it; and this, of course, made her still 
less inclined toward him. The less way he made in her affections, 
the more bitter he became against you, till at- last she had to tell him 
that his conversation was disagreeable, and that he must never come 
to the house again. He still did come to the door several times, but 
the maid told him that he must not come in, and that she would 
scream murder if he attempted it. Soon after this, poor old Mrs. 
Sandon fell ill and died, and poor Miss Margaret was left alone 
without any one to assist her or protect her. I asked her 1o come 
and live with me till she could make arrangements what to do. She 
had friends in Shetland, though that is a long way off, and I could 
not think what help they could afford her. They wrote back beg- 
ging that she would come to them, and that she should be like their 
daughter, and they would be parents to her. Well, against my 
advice, she resolved to set off, and away she went. She kindly 
wrote to me once, to tell me of her safe arrival, and she thought- 
fully paid the postage, which was just like her, and very right. 
You shall see her letter, for I do not think she would object to my 
showing it to you.” 

I thanked Miss Rundle very much for the account she had given 
me, but I could with difficulty reply to her for thinking what I 
would do. All sorts of ideas crowded into my mind. I scarcely, 
however, recollected Charley Itfley and his behavior. My thoughts 
flew off to Shetland, and to Margaret Troall. Miss Rundle gave 
me her letter. I read it over and over again. I made a note of the 
place from which she dated it. Miss Rundle saw me, and asked me 
if I was going to write to her. 

“No; I intend to goto Shetland,” I answered promptly. “I 
have made up my mind to that. After all you have told me, I shall 
not rest happy till I have seen her. Perhaps I shall take up my 
abode there altogether. My father’s family come from Shetland, 
and if I could get Aunt Bretta to come up there also, we might all 
be very happy.” 

I was much pleased by the kind way in which Miss Rundle 
seemed to sympathize with me, and entered into all my views and 
plans, though she herself had no personal interest in them. She told 
me, in course of conversation, that she had not since seen Charley 
Itfley, but that she believed he belonged to some man-of-war or 
other, at the time of which she had been speaking, and that she 
understood he was still in the service. 

My plan once formed, I lost no time in putting it into execution. 


114 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


Tliat very evening I found a smack sailing for Portsmouth, and 
took my passage by her. On reaching Soutjisea, and telling my 
aunt all that had occurred, she very much approved of my plans, 
and encouraged me to set off at once for Shetland. She sent all 
sorts of messages to old friends, and to the children of old friends; 
for, as she remarked with a sigh, it was too probable that many of 
the parents would have been called away from the world. 

Drawing a further supply of money from the bank, I went up to 
London by the coach next morning. I won’t stop to describe how 
I was bothered and confused in London, and how heartily I wished 
myself out of it. I found my way to London Bridge, and, after 
making many inquiries, I reached a place where there were several 
Leith smacKS moored together. One was going to sail the next 
tide. I joyfully stepped aboard of her, and still more happy was 
I to find myself clear of the Thames and out at sea. We were just 
a week making the passage, which was veiy well, considering that 
we had a foul wind for some hours and had to bring up in Yar- 
mouth Roads. From Leith I got on by another vessel to Aberdeen. 
In that port I found a regular trader which sailed once a month to 
Lerwick, in Shetland. She was a smack, but not equal in size to 
the craft in which I had come down from London to Leith. 

We had been out about three days when very heavy thick weather 
came on, and a south-westerly gale sprung up, which came sweep- 
ing through the passage between Orkney and Shetland, kicking up 
a terrific sea. The- smack behaved very well, but at last all that 
could be done was to set a try-sail and to heave her to, and away we 
drifted we knew not where. I had never before been in the North 
Seas, so I was not accustomed to such dark gloomy weather — not 
but what it is bad enough in the English Channel now and then — 
still it does not often last so long as it does up in the north. 

Day after day the clouds hung down over our heads, and the 
wind howled, and the dark green seas kept leaping up around, as if 
eager to draw us down under their angry foaming bosoms. We 
had a hard matter to cook our provisions, and no very easy one to 
eat them raw or cooked. Suddenly the wind shifted and blew as 
strongly as ever from the eastward, and then from the northward, 
and then got back again into the old quarter, and the master con- 
fessed that, for the life of him he could not tell where he had drifted 
to. 

“ On which side of Shetland are we, do you think?” said I. 

“ I only hope that we are still to the eastward, but at all events I 
believe we are well away to the northward of the islands.” 


WILL WEATHLEHELM. 


115 


“ I hope so,” I answered. “ But look, captain, what huge and 
unbroken seas come rolling in from the west; if we are not to the 
northward, it is my opinion that we have got the islands under ou r 
lee, and if this gale is to continue, 1 would rather have them any- 
where else than there.” 

“ So would I, young man; but I have made this trip pretty often, 
and I don’t think that I can be so far out in my calculation,” was 
the answer. . 

All I could say was that I hoped that I was wrong and he was 
right, as, whichever was the case, there was nothing we could do 
till the weather moderated. On we diove. I did not like the look 
of things. When night came on I did not turn in, but sat down 
below out of the cold, ready to spring on deck in a moment. I had 
fastened my money in a belt round my waist, and kept my shoes 
ready to kick off, and my jacket loose to throw easily aside. I was 
certain that the vessel would be wrecked. I felt no fear for my 
own life, though I remembered my rash oath and what had occurred 
so often before, and the gloomy weather had indeed increased the 
conviction that I was under a sort of curse, and that I should have 
no rest till it was fulfilled. I am just saying what I then thought. 

1 can not even now be surprised at the idea gaining such powerful 
possession of my mind, while everything that had happened to me 
had tended to strengthen it. 

Night came on. Pitchy darkness surrounded the storm-driven 
little smack. The cry of “ Breakers! breakers!” and piercing 
shrieks made me spring on deck. At that moment the vessel 
struck. The foaming seas came hissing and roaring up after her. 
We were among a dark mass of rocks; no fabric formed b^ human 
hands could have withstood the violence of those terrific waves. I 
held on to the last moment, while the huge foaming seas washed 
over my head, almost drowning me, as I clung to the wreck. Then 
I felt the deck quiver and shake, and the stout beams and timbers 
were wrenched and torn asunder under my feet, and I was hurled 
onward among the broken fragments by a roaring sea, which must 
have well-nigh completed the destruction of the craft. I lost all 
consciousness. 

My last thought had been that at length the angry sea was about 
to claim me as a victim. There was a hissing, roaring sound in my 
ears; I felt myself tossed to and fro, knocked and battered, but I 
made no attempt, that I am aware of, to save myself. At length I 
opened my eyes. It was daylight. Some men were bending over 
me. 


116 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


I heard a voice say, “ Here is one who seems to have still some 
life in him.” And another person came and look my hand, and 
after waiting a minute, ” said, “Yes, carry him up to the house.” 
And I was put on a litter and borne up a steep path among some 
cliffs; and then across a high, wild down till I reached a substan- 
tial, strongly built stone house. The movement of the litter had a 
very good effect on me, so that by the time I reached the house my 
chest was relieved from the salt water I had swallowed, and my 
senses had completely returned. 1 was therefore saved the cere- 
mony, very common in those days, by which a good many people 
were killed, of hanging nearty drowned men up by the heels, under 
the idea that the water would more quickly run out of their 
mouths. I was carried into a large boarded room, out of which 
several others opened. In one of those there was a bed. After my 
wet clothes had been taken off me I was placed in bed, carefully 
wrapped up in blankets; and directly after some warm drink was 
brought me. 

I remember struggling somewhat when I found my money-belt 
being removed, and trying to possess myself of it. 

“ Never fear, young man; it will be all safe,” said a voice. “ We 
are not wreckers, and we no longer fancy that you will work us 
harm because we help to save your life.” 

This satisfied me. I knew that there were honest people as well 
as rogues in the world, but I had often met with honest ones, so I 
hoped that I had now fallen among such. One thing, at all events, 
was very evident, they seemed anxious to save my life. After this 
I fell into a sound sleep. 

It was nine o’clock in the evening when I awoke; but the summer 
days are very long in those regions, and even then the evening sun 
was shining into the window. A stout, white-haired, kindly look- 
ing old gentleman came in to see me with a younger man, whom I 
took to be his son, and a servant-girl brought in a tray with some 
tea, and some barley scones, hot and buttered. I thought that I 
had never tasted anything nicer in my life. 

“ I hope you are better now after your sleep, young man,” said 
the old gentleman. “ If fever can be kept off I think you will do 
well; but we have sent for the doctor to look at your hurts. There 
are two or three other people who want his aid.” 

“ What, only two or three escaped out of all those on board the 
smack?” said I. 

“ It is a mercy that any one came on shore alive; and you will 
say so when you see the place in day-time,” said the younger man. 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


117 


“We won’t speak about it at present,” said the old gentleman. 
“ The less he talks or hears others talk the better just now. We 
bid you good-night. Sleep again, if you can; some one will look 
in on you to see how you are going on, now and then.” 

With these words my hospitable friends left me once more to 
myself. 

I suspected, indeed, that I should be better for a doctor’s care, for 
I felt that I had been bruised and battered dreadfully; my head 
had been bandaged, and when I tried to stir I found all my limbs 
sore and stiff — indeed, it was not without great pain that I could 
move either an arm or a leg. _ I slept through most of the night. 
When I did awake I began to wonder where I had got to, for the 
old gentleman had remained in the room so short a time that I had 
not been able to ask any questions. 

I had little doubt that I had been cast away on the coast of Shet- 
land, but whether on the northern or southern end I could not tell, 
any more than I could who was my kind host. 

The next day the doctor arrived. He had ridden over from 
Lerwick, with only the rest of half an hour for his steed, he said; 
so I knew that I must be at some distance from that town, and yet 
on the big island called the mainland. He dressed my wounds and 
bruises, and told me that one or two of my ribs were broken, but 
that I might consider myself fortunate that matters were no worse; 
and remarked that he had no doubt I had .lived a prudent, careful 
life, as I was prefectly free from all signs of fever, which would 
not otherwise have been the case; and then giving me some bottles 
of medicine to take, he left me to look after his other patients. He 
spent two or three days in the house, for the islands are generally 
so healthy that there was not much demand for his services else- 
where. 

One of my poor shipmates died, I was told, from his hurts. I 
rapidly got better. Besides the old gentleman and his son and the 
doctor, an old lady looked in now and then to see me. She was a 
very neat, pretty old woman, so cheerful and cheery, always having 
something pleasant to say, so that she contributed much to raise 
my spirits. I will say that 1 was most thankful for all the mercies 
which had been shown me, and for my preservation from so great 
a danger. 

At last I was pronounced well enough and strong enough to get 
up and appear in public. A barber, who was going his rounds, 
came in, and shaved me and cut my hair, and my head and face 


118 


WILL WEATHERIIELM. 


were all to rights, so that I looked as well as ever, only my ribs 
hurt me a little, and my limbs felt somewhat stiff. 

The old gentleman came to my room when I was ready. “ Take 
my arm,” said he, kindly; “ you will find it rather strange walking 
at first, and your knees will shake a little.” 

I could not refuse his kind offer, though I thought that I could 
have walked very well by myself. Pie led me into the large hall, 
and there, seated by a window at the further end, looking out on 
the sea, I observed two young women. One was dressed in black, 
the other in some sober color or other. They were both at the mo- 
ment bending down over their knitting, and talking in a low voice 
to each other, so that they did not observe our entrance. 

We had got three quarters of the way across the room, and the 
old gentleman was giving me a chair to sit down on, when the 
noise it made over the floor caused them to look up. There sat one 
I had so long thought of, whom I had come to search for, Margaret 
Troall. 

She looked at me in a strange, bewildered way; still she knew me, 
and yet she could not believe her senses. She tried to rise from her 
chair to come toward me, but something seemed to keep her back. 
She drew her breath quickly, as if she would have wished to have 
spoken, but could not. I felt that I ought to speak first. 

“ They told you I was dead, Miss Margaret,” said I, and I know 
my voice trembled very much, and I know that had I not leaned on 
the chair I should hava fallen. “ They were mistaken; I went to 
Plymouth only lately, and found you were no longer there; and 
when I discovered that you had gone north I came here to seek 
you.” 

She recovered herself while I was speaking, and rising from her 
seat, came up and gave me her hand. I do not say that there was 
anything very extraordinary in the action, but I know that it made 
me very happy. Pier friends at first looked very much astonished; 
but a few words served to explain matters, and then they were 
doubly glad that they had had the opportunity of being of so much 
service to an old friend of their young relative. 

I found that the name of my host, the uncle of Miss Troall, was 
David Angus, and that the place where the smack had been wrecked 
was in St. Magnus Bay, in the parish of North Morven. My friends 
were the holders of one of the largest farms in the district, and 
lived in a very comfortable, though what people in the south would 
call a rough way. I am not going to talk of ail that passed between 
Margaret and me. I should not have believed that she had thought 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


lit, 

so much of me as she had done, it seemed; but our first meeting 
had been under peculiar circumstances. She had seen me mourn- 
ing deeply for a lost relative, and she had discovered thus that I 
had a tender heart, so I may venture to say, and now my coming 
. all the way north to look for her showed her that she had made no 
little impression on it. 

Well, all that has passed and gone. I got every day better and bet- 
ter, and was soon able to walk out with her along the tops of the high 
cliffs, and to visit the wild scenes to be found -especially in that part 
of the island. 1 especially remember one place we visited, called 
the Navis Grind. It is a gap in the cliffs formed by the whole- 
force of the western ocean rolling against them during a succession 
of heavy gales, age after age, till vast fragments of the rock have 
been forced in for hundreds of yards over the downs, and now lie 
like the fragments of some ruined city scattered over the plain. 
We delighted in returning to those scenes of wild grandeur, because 
they contrasted so strongly with our own quiet happiness. 

This was only the second time in my life that I had enjoyed what 
might be properly called idleness. The first was during my short 
stay with Aunt Bretta, and then I confess that I often did at times 
feel weary from not knowing what to do with myself. Now I 
never felt anything like weariness, I was too happy to spend the 
greater part of the day in the society of Margaret. Sometimes I 
used to walk by myself over the downs by the edge of the cliffs, and 
at others visit the different parts of his farm with my host, and 
assist him to look after his cattle and horses and sheep, which were 
scattered far and wide over the peninsula. 

I have scarcely mentioned his daughter Minna. She was a fair- 
haired, smiling, good-natured lassie, who was contented with her 
lot, because she had sense enough to discover that it was a very 
happy one. 

There was one person, however, who would, I soon with some 
pain discovered, have been better pleased had I not come to the 
islands. That was John Angus, my host’s son. He did not treat 
me uncivilly or unkindly, but I saw that it cost him an effort to be 
as cordial as the rest of his family. He was a good-natured, frank, 
kind-hearted man, whom under other circumstances I should have 
hoped to have made my friend. I can not but think, too, that in 
time he would have won Margaret’s regard, and he was certainly a 
man to have made any woman happy. 

In two weeks or so I was Margaret’s acknowledged suitor, or 
rather, I may say, her affianced husband. I was so happy that I 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


thought sorrow could never again come near me. Now Margaret 
herself reminded me that I was a Shetlander — indeed, as I was born 
at sea, no other people would claim me — and that I ought to try 
and find out some of my family. I talked the subject over with 
Mr. Angus. He remembered many of them, but when he came to con- 
sider every one of my near relations were gone. Some cousins of my 
father’s were the nearest remaining, and then there were several of 
Aunt Bretta’s old friends, the companions of her youth, whom she 
wished me to see. John Angus volunteered to accompany me, and 
he provided two strong, shaggy little ponies for our journey. 

We started away one morning soon after daybreak over the wild 
tracks, the only substitute for roads through the islands in those 
days, and crossed into the chief part of the mainland by a causeway 
so narro w that I could have thrown a biscuit across it. On one 
side of us was Rowe Sound, and on the other Hagraseter Yoe, a 
long, narrow voe running out of Yell Sound. It would be difficult 
to describe the wild, and often beautiful scenery through which we 
passed. Long, deep voes, full of inlets and indentations, with high 
heathery hills on either side, was the most characteristic feature, 
and quiet, little inland lochs, with wild fow r l resting on their 
bosoms, was another, and then high rocky cliffs, the habitation of 
innumerable sea-birds, and hundreds of green islands and rocks 
scattered about on every side on the surface of the blue ocean. 

John Angus did his best to point out to me the various points of 
interest we passed. Among the most curious were the Pictie 
towers, little round edifices built with rough stone,, beautifully put 
together, with passages inside winding up to the top without steps. 
They were built by a race who inhabited those islands long before 
the time of which history gives any account. Whence they came, 
or how they departed, no one knows. Every hamlet throughout 
Shetland is called a toun. The cottages composing them are very 
far from attractive- looking edifices, generally built of mud, of one ' 
story, and thatched; with a midden on one side of the door, and a 
pool of a very doubtful color and contents on the other. The in- 
sides were often large and clean, and tidy enough, and in such I 
found many of my aunt’s friends residing. 

Wherever I went I was hospitably received, and I delivered my 
messages, and rode on. I can not say that my cousins appeared 
very highly delighted at seeing me, which was natural enough, 
considering that till I made my appearance, and announced myself, 
they had never heard there was such a person in existence. How- 
ever, Aunt Bretta was remembered by all her contemporaries with 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


121 


affection. I should have enjoyed my visits more had I not been 
anxious to return to Hills wick. 

We were altogether five days away, and in that period, sometimes 
by means of boats, and sometimes on the backs of ponies, and at 
others on our own feet, we visited the greater portion of the islands. 
1 often felt that had I been born among them I should never have 
desired to leave their quiet shores, and more than once contemplated 
the probability of spending the remainder of my days there. I 
spoke my mind on the subject to John Angus. 

“ Do, Wetherholm, do,” he answered; *’ we shall be glad to have 
you among us; but you’ve heard the old notion we islanders have, 
that he who is saved from drowning by any one of us is certain to 
work us ill?” 

“ I’ve- heard of the idea not only as held by the people of Shet- 
land, but by those of many other countries,” I answered. “ Like 
many other ideas, to my mind, it is not only false, but wrong and 
wicked. Depend upon it, the idea was invented by those who 
wanted an excuse for killing the unfortunate people wrecked on 
their coast in order to obtain their property.” 

“ That may be,” said Angus; “ still, for my part, I can not .help 
believing that it is in some respects 1 rue. However, sometimes a 
man may work another harm without intending it. But come 
along, put your nag into a trot, we have a good many miles of this 
heavy peat land to get over before we reach home. ’ ’ 

It was not till some time afterward that I knew what John Angus 
meant by his remarks. He volunteered to take the ponies round to 
the stable, while I went into the house. It was worth going away 
for a few days for the pleasure of being received as I was by Mar- 
garet. I thought her looking more sweet and lovely than ever. As 
I said before, I am not going to repeat all that occurred between 
us. The day was fixed for our marriage, and friends from far and 
near were invited to it. They came, some by water and others on 
ponies; the women on pack-saddles, with their head-gear in baskets 
hung over their arms. Mr. Angus had told me that he hoped, 
since I was to become his nephew, that I would live on with him in 
his croft, as there was work enough both for me and his son 
John, indeed, had a mind to go and see something of the world, 
and was proposing a trip to Aberdeen, if not to Edinburgh, before 
the winter. He would be away, at all events, during the winter, 
so that my services would be of great value. 

This proposal exactly suited my wishes. 1 was certain that Mar- 
garet would be happy with her friends, and I should find plenty of 


122 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


the sort of employment which suited me. I should be out of doors 
during all the hours of daylight, and I knew that I should be handy 
in the various occupations in which the family passed their time 
during the long evenings of winter. Well, then, Margaret and I 
were married, and the guests who had welcomed me back as a 
countr} r man to Shetland, took their departure, and we all settled 
-down into a very regular, happy state of existence. John Angus 
went away to Scotland, and I took his place as his father’s assistant. 
The winter came round pretty quickly, and though we had fogs 
and damp sometimes, I did not find the weather nearly so cold as I 
expected. Even in midwinter, with a south-westerly wind, it was 
always quite warm; but when the wind shifted round and came 
out of the north-east or east, it was cold enough. Still there was 
very little ice, and not often much snow. As I have often re- 
marked when wandering over the globe, every country has its ad- 
vantages, and those far northern islands have theirs. They have 
their long days in summer, and bright skies, and fragrant wild- 
flowers, and fine wild scenery, and, thanks to the hot waters of the 
Gulf Stream which wash their shores, a tolerably temperate climate 
all the year round. The winter passed rapidly away. I could 
often scarcely' believe in my happiness, after all the hardships and 
dangers I had undergone, and I am afraid that I was not sufficiently 
grateful for it. One thing I felt, that Margaret did not repent the 
choice she had made. Though I had had rather more education 
than generally falls to the lot of those of my class, I knew that I 
was but a rough, untutored seaman, and so I did my utmost to be 
tender and gentle to my wife, and to study how I best could please 
her in everything. I did not forget my old friend Miss Bundle — 
my wife and I wrote her a long letter between us, full of all sorts 
of fun; we also took good care to pay the postage. Of course, also, 
we wrote to Affnt Bret.ta. She sent back a letter in return, hoping 
that we would soon come south to see her. We expected John 
Angus in the spring, but he did not return. He wrote instead, to 
say that he had got some employment in the south, which suited 
him for the present, and that he was very happy. 

A whole year passed away. During the second winter, I thought 
that my wife, who had been so long accustomed to the soft air of 
Devonshire, was suffering from the long continuance of damp fogs. 
While I was balancing in my mind whether I ought not to take her 
south, I received another letter from Aunt Bretta. She told me that 
she was quite sickening to see me and my wife, and that my uncle 
hoped to be able to find some employment on shore which would suit 


• WILL WEATHERHELM. 


123 


my taste. When I laid the proposal before my wife, she at once 
acceeded to it. “I am afraid,” said she, “ that as long as we re- 
main here, we keep poor John away from his family. If we go 
south, he will return home.” David Angus, and the old lady, and 
our kind-hearted cousin were most unwilling to part with us, but 
we had written to Aunt Bretta to say that we were coming, and we 
could not again change our plans. About the middle of June we 
sailed in a smack bound direct for Leith : and once more I found 
myself on salt water. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Voyage in the smack— Gale springs up— Washed overboard— Saved on a spar— 
Dreadful fears for my wife’s safety— The kind-hearted fisherman— Find the 
smack— Account of her escape— Journey on land— Coach upset— Again pre- 
served— Reach home— Old Jerry again— His adventure with the bears. 

I was walking the deck one night, while my wife was below, and 
thinking of the events of my past life, when the recollection of my 
rash oath came across me like a thunder-clap in summer, when just 
before the whole sky overhead has appeared of the purest blue. 
“ Is my dreadful fate still to pursue me?” I thought. “ Rather 
than she should be torn from me, let me perish with her.” The 
weather was fine, the wind was light and fair, and there was not the 
slightest cause for any apprehension of danger. Had I been by 
myself, such an idea would not, I believe, have crossed my mind; 
but now that I had so precious a being under my charge, I was 
timid as a mother with her first-born child. At last I went below, 
and the night passed away in quietness. The next morning was 
bright and lovely as ever an early summer has had to exhibit, and I 
felt ashamed of my thoughts of the previous evening, as if I had 
been ungrateful for the blessings I had received, and mistrustful of 
God’s merciful providence. Still the ideas I had entertained came 
back again during the forenoon, and haunted me at times through- 
out the day. Had I been able to speak to my wife on the subject, 
I doubt not I should have relieved my mind; but I was afraid of 
frightening her and making her nervous, so I kept them to myself. 
As the evening drew on, dark clouds were seen banking up on the 
horizon. I watched them with an anxiety I had never before ex- 
perienced at sea, for I had never before been on the ocean with a 
freight I prized so much. They continued rapidly to increase, and 
before night closed in had formed a thick canopy overhead, while 
dark heaving seas came rolling in toward us across the full width of 


124 


WILL WEATHERHELM. , 


the German Ocean, and the increasing breeze moaned and whistled 
in our rigging. The smack heeled over to the force of the wind till 
her lee-bulwarks were und?fr water, but still the master was unwill- 
ing to shorten sail. We were on a lee shore, and he was anxious to 
haul off sufficiently to make his passage good for the Firth of Forth. 
We might even then have run back for the Moray Firth, where, as 
the wind was from the southward of east, we should have got under 
the lee of the land; but then we might have been detained there, 
very certainly for many days and perhaps for several weeks, so he 
resolved, at all hazards, to keep the sea. Under a close-reeled main- 
sail and storm-jib, the little vessel continued her course, looking 
bravely up to the increasing gale. Still, at times she plunged 
heavily into the seas, and it often seemed, as I stood on her deck as 
if she would never rise again above them. I sat while I could, by 
my wife in the cabin to try and comfort and protect her; but I 
could not help rushing on deck every now and then to ascertain 
how matters were proceeding. The report, however, I had to give 
when I returned below was anything but encouraging. I had no 
idea of deceiving people, as some persons do, when danger is 
threatening. I am certain that the more a person can contemplate 
the possibility of danger, the better able they will be to encounter it 
when it comes, if they have employed the meantime in reflection and 
in considering the best means to meet it. 

We were off the Scotch coast, somewhere between Stonehaven 
and Montrose, I fancy, when the gale came down upon us with 
greater force than ever, and the old master thought if lie could get 
the try-sail on the vessel, as we had by this time gained a con- 
siderable offing, that he should be able to heave her to and weather 
it out till it blew over. As he was about to shift the sails the wind 
lulled a little, and once more he hoped that he should be able to 
hold on his course. He forgot that all this time, though lie was 
certainly getting more to the southward, the vessel was also drifting 
nearer and nearer in-shore. At last the gale, as if it had rested 
merely to gain strength, breezed up again with greater fury than 
ever. I was below at the time. “ We must get the try sail on her, 
my lads,” I heard the old man sing out. Securing my wife to 
a sofa in the cabin, I sprung on deck to lend a hand, for I knew 
that all the strength that could be obtained would be required, and 
that every moment Of delay added to our danger. Many as were 
the gales I had been in, I had never beheld a more terrific-looking 
scene than that by which I now found myself surrounded. Vivid 
flashes of lightning every now and then revealed the dark wall-like 


WILL WEATHERHELH. 


125 


waves which rose up with their crests of foam on every side around 
us, and threatened to ingulf the little craft struggling helplessly 
among them. Still no one stopped a moment to think of all this — 
the work to be done was to get the mainsail off her and to set the 
try-sail. I thought at the time that we were much nearer in-shore 
than the old master fancied. The try-sail was almost set, and we 
were hauling out the sheet, when I heard the old man sing out, 
“ Hold on, my lads! hold on! Here comes a sea which will give 
her a shake.” On it came. I was to leeward. I felt myself torn 
from the rope to which I held, and my fest lifted off the deck. The 
wild waves surrounded me. There was a tumult in my ears. With 
horror and agony I discovered that the 3ea had carried me over- 
board. I shrieked out instinctively for help, though I knew that 
none could be afforded. In vain I struggled to regain the vessel. 

My real condition presented itself with terrific clearness to my 
mind. For my own life I cared not, but I thought of my wife — of 
her agony and despair when she discovered that I was lost. I 
would have given worlds to have got once more on board that little 
sea-tossed bark. I was always a good swimmer. Even amid those 
tossing waves I found that I could keep my head above water. 
Still the unequal struggle could not have lasted long, when at the 
moment I was losing the dim outline of the little vessel in the dark- 
ness, I found myself thrown against some floating object. A hope 
that I might possibly preserve my life sprung up in my bosom. I 
grasped the object, and found that it was part of the mast and top 
of a large vessel. I clambered upon it and held fast while I re- 
covered my breath. Though it was violently tossed about by the 
seas, which threatened every moment to sweep me off from it, still 
I held on. My first thought was to endeavor to discover how far 
off was the smack, on board which was all I prized in life. I could 
nowhere see her. I have heard of people’s hair turning white in a 
single night from grief— I felt that mine might have done so from 
the agony of mind I endured. Would the smack weather out the 
gale? or would my dear wife survive the shock when she discovered 
that I had been so suddenly torn from her? “ 1 have often been 
punished, and justly, but this is the most severe punishment of all,” 

I thought to myself. A voice whispered in my ear, ' ‘ Curse God, 
and die” — the same voice which had whispered the same words 
into the ear of the Patriarch Job many ages ago, and has been 
whispering the like into the ears of thousands of human beings ever 
since. “O God, have mercy on me and support me!” I ejacu- 
lated, and the tempter fled from me. 


126 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


Scarcely able to breathe from the dense masses of spray surround- 
ing me, and from the waves which kept continually washing over 
me, I still clung on to the wreck. I fancied that the shattered mast 
was being floated onward. I do not remember now what reason I 
had for supposing so. It contributed, at all events, to keep up my 
hope of being ultimately rescued. How slowly and painfully the 
hours passed by! Often I thought that, from very exhaustion and 
cold, I must be swept from my hold. At length, as I was looking 
upward at the sky to try and discover any break in the clouds which 
might aiford me an indication that the gale was abating, I beheld 
the first faint streaks of dawn appearing in the eastward. The 
clouds seemed to lift like a thick curl ain to let in the light of day. 
I looked round toward the land; I could distinguish its dim outline 
through the darkness which still hung over it. This convinced me 
that the mast must have drifted much nearer than when I first got 
hold of it. This fact, however, tended to increase my anxiety for 
the fate of the smack. What if she has been driven on the rocks, 
and, as would probably be the case, all on board have perished! 
“ Oh, why, why was not I allowed to remain with my dear wife, to 
perish with her, or to be the means of saving her!” I exclaimed, in 
the agony of my spirit. The intensity of my feelings almost over- 
came me. As daylight increased, I saw that the summer gale had 
been considerably lessened, and every minute the wind seemed to 
be going down I could now clearly make out the shore, the yellow 
sands, with their fringe of dark rocks, over which the surf was 
breaking with almost unabated fury. “What chance of escaping 
with my life will there be, if I am drifted in among those wild 
rocks?” I thought to myself. Now there could be no doubt that I 
was drifting, and rapidly too, toward the shore. With an anxious, 
piercing gaze, I looked round to the southward to see if I could dis- 
cover any signs of the smack, half dreading to find her driven in 
among the rocks, yet still praying and hoping that she might be rid- 
ing safely at anchor behind some sheltering reef, or within some 
little harbor on the coast. Not a sign of her could I discover. I 
looked seaward. Two or three sails were seen, rising and falling in 
the offing, but too far off to allow me to hope that she could be one 
of them. On drove the mast; its course was altered, and it was 
evidently drifting along shore to the southward. I judged that 
I was no more than three or four hundred fathoms from the breakers. 
I discovered that, by climbing a little further on the mast, I could 
stand upright without its turning over with me. Finding this, I 
untied a silk handkerchief I had about my neck, and waved it 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


127 


around my head. I continued waving, hoping that some one would 
see my signal. I waited anxiously, looking along the shore. At so 
early an hour few people were out. At last the head of a man ap- 
peared above a sand-hill. I waved more vehemently, and shouted, 
forgetting that my voice could not be heard above the roar of the 
breakers. Soon I saw him standing on the top of the hill, and 
looking through a spy-glass at me, and then he waved his hand in 
return, and, pointing to the southward, ran on. Directly afterward 
I saw two or three other people running in the same direction, carry- 
ing oars over their shoulders, and a boat-hook. I guessed that they 
were making for some little harbor or sandy cove, where their 
boats were drawn up. I prayed that they might come to my aid 
quickly, for every instant the wreck of the mast drove nearer and 
nearer to the rocks. Still I can not say that I felt much doubt 
about being saved after having already been so mercifully preserved 
during the night from dangers so terrific. Yet it appeared an age 
before I saw a boat darting out from an opening in the rocks. 
Putting her head to the seas, she dashed up toward me. She had 
not come a minute too soon. 

“ Stand by, mon! stand by to leap aboard!” I heard a voice sing 
out, as the bow of the boat came up close to where I was hang- 
ing on. 

I did not require a second order; at the same time, my limbs were 
so stiff and benumbed that I could scarcely have obeyed, had not 
two of the men in the bow of the boat caught me by the collar, and 
hauled me on board. 

“ Noo, round wi’ her, laddies! round wi’ her! we’ll hear a’ aboot 
it by and by,” cried the man at the helm. 

The boat was at the time scarcely half a dozen fathoms from the 
surf, and any sea rolling in, and breaking sooner than usual, might 
have rolled her over and over and drowned all hands. With hearty 
tugs the men who had so bravely rescued me pulled the boat round 
and out to sea, while the mast was directly afterward carried among 
the surf, and hurled round and round, till it was cast in fragments 
on the rocks. I shuddered when I saw what my fate might have 
been. There was little time to exchange many words with the 
fishermen before the boat was pulled into a little sandy cove, and 
they all, springing out, ran her up high and dry on the beach. 

“You maun be weet, laddie,” said the old master of the boat, 
helping me out of her with the aid of two of the other men. “ Come 
up to my hoose, and we’ll put dry duds on ye, and then you’ll tell 
us how ye came to be floating on that bit of wreck there. She 


128 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


maun hae been a large ship ye belonged to, I’m thinking, and ye 
were the only one saved? It’s sad to think of it.” 

Under some circumstances I should have been amused by the 
eagerness of the old man to hear the account I had to give, at the 
same time that his kind heart prompted him not to fatigue me by 
asking questions. I was still more anxious to know if he could give 
me any account of the smack. As we were going up to the cottage 
I described her exactly, but he shook his head. 

“ We were up late last nicht, looking along the shore on account 
of the gale, and we were not out so early this morning as usual,” 
was the reply. 

Having satisfied the curiosity of my host with an account of my 
own adventure, I entreated that, as soon as my clothes were dried, 
I might be allowed to proceed to the southward along the coast, to 
try and gain tidings of the smack. My hopes revived within me 
when the fishermen told me that we were not far from the mouth 
of the Firth of Tay, and that perhaps the smack might have been 
driven in there. 

“ Still ye should know that there is a danger there which has 
proved fatal to many a tall ship,” said the old man. “ It is called 
the Inchcape Rock. There’s a bell made fast to it, which, when- 
ever a gale is blowing, tolls by the tossing of the seas as they drive 
against it. You’ve heard tell, maybe, of the pirate, who, in the 
wantonness of his wickedness, carried the bell away, and who, 
although another was placed in its stead, was lost, with all his com- 
panions, on that very rock. Heaven finds out sinners of high and 
low degree, at some time or other, however they may endeavor to 
escape its vengeance. ’ ’ 

I thought to myself, “ True, indeed, is that. How often have I 
been found out and punished for my one great sin!” 

Ill and weak as I was, I insisted, as I had had some food on start- 
ing, to proceed along the coast to try and obtain tidings of the 
smack. If she had not foundered, she must have been cast on shore 
or taken shelter in some harbor at the mouth of the Tay. 

“No, no,” said the old man; “ young blood fancies that it can do 
anything, but I tell ye that ye have no strength to go on now with- 
out rest. I’ll send my laddies along the coast, both north and 
south, and they will make inquiries and bring back any tidings they 
can. obtain; you will have news of the vessel more speedily in that 
way than any other.” 

Still I insisted on putting on my own clothes and setting off: but 
when I attempted to get-up, I found that I could scarcely walk 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


129 


across the room, much less could I hope to trudge over the links, 
and rough rocks and sand which lined the shore along which I 
wished to proceed. I was obliged, therefore, to consent to go to 
bed, and to try and sleep. At first I thought that would be impos- 
sible, but my old sailor habits triumphed over the anxiety I felt, 
and the rest I so much needed came to me. 

In less than four hours I awoke. I found myself alone; so I 
sprung up and put on my clothes, resolved that nothing should stop 
me from proceeding on my journey. I felt far stronger than I could 
have expected. 

“ Stay till my laddies come in, and hear what account they have 
to give ye,” said the kind-hearted old fisherman, making me sit 
down once more in the porch in front of his cottage. 

The roof was the bow of a small boat, which made a good shelter 
from the sun, and the supporting-posts the jawbones of a whale 
which had been stranded on the shore. 

That I might have something to distract my mind he gave me a 
stick that I might fashion it to support my steps as I walked along. 
When 1 had cut it to the required length I sprung up, saying I 
would go on some little way, at all events, begging his son to follow 
me; when we saw the young man approaching the cottage from 
the north, I ran forward to meet him. 

“ Have you heard anything of the smack?” I inquired, in 
breathless haste. 

“ No; not a sign of her. There was a big ship lost with all hands 
—not a soul escaped— in the early part of the night; but often when 
the big ship goes down the small one swims; ye ken that, mon,” 
was the answer. 

Although he had been out for some hours, he insisted on accom- 
panying me when he found that I had resolved on proceeding, till 
we should fall in with his brothers. The old man gave me his 
blessing, and the old wife and the rest of the family parted most 
kindly with me — they were all so much interested in the account I 
had given them of myself. As to receiving any remuneration, they 
would not hear of it. 

We toiled on over the links; sometimes I thought that my knees 
would have given way under me. At last the old weather-beaten tower 
of Broughty Castle appeared in sight, the ancient guardian to the 
entrance of the Tay. “ We’ll just sit down here till the ferry-boat 
is ready to cross, ” said my companion, throwing himself on the grass 
bank under the crumbling walls. ‘‘Maybe my brother will be 
coming over just now, and he will tell us what he has learned.” 


130 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


I suggested that the smack might have run up to Dundee, but he 
said that was not in the least likely. If she had come in there she 
would have brought up off Brough ty itself. We made inquiries, 
before sitting down, of some fishermen who had been on the shore 
all the morning, and certainly no vessel, they said, answering the 
description of the smack had come in. At any other time my eye 
would have dwelt with pleasure on the scenery which is presented 
by the beautiful estuary of the Tay, but now I could only think of 
the object of my search. I was leaning back on the grass, hoping 
to recover strength to proceed, when my companion jumped up and 
ran down to the water’s edge. 

“ What news, Sandy! what news do ye bring?” 

“ The vessel is safe,” was the answer. 

“ Thank Heaven for its mercy!” I ejaculated; and springing up 
and running toward the young fisherman, “ Tell me, lad, tell me, 
how is my wife!” 

“The puir young leddy was taken very bad — very bad indeed, 
when she found that you had gone overboard, and all on board 
thought that she could not live. No one could give her any com- 
fort, foi no one thought you could have escaped. The rest on board, 
indeed, had soon to think of themselves. The vessel drove past the 
Inchcape Rock, and all heard the tolling of the bell, and believed 
that they were going to strike on it. 

“While others were bemoaning their fate, and crying out for 
mercy, and expecting to be drowned, she sat up and seemed to 
have forgotten the cause of her own grief. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Ah, ’ she said, with a smile, ‘ what makes you miserable gives 
me joy. You fear death. I look forward to it as a happiness, 
because I shall soon be joined to him who has been torn from me. ’ 

“ Ay; sir, the bell tolled louder and louder, and each toll that it 
gave made her heart beat quicker with joy, while it drove the life- 
blood away from the hearts of those who feared death as the great- 
est of evils. On drifted the vessel — darkness was around them — 
still that solemn bell kept tolling and tolling, but yet the expected 
shock was not felt. The bell tolled on, but the sounds grew fainter 
and fainter, and the master told them that they had no longer cause 
to fear, and might thank Heaven for their preservation, for that he 
knew where they were, and could take them into a port in safety. 
Well, but of your wife, I know that you will want to hear.” 

“Yes! yes!” 1 exclaimed, “ tell me how is she— where is she!” 
We were, all the time the young fisherman was speaking, hurrying 
down toward the ferry-boat. 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


131 


That is just what I was about to tell ye, ’ ’ he answered, with 
the deliberate way in which the inhabitants of that part of Scotland 
of his rank generally speak. “ The young leddy, they told me, no 
sooner heard that the vessel was in safety, than she gave way to a 
sorrow which it was pitiful to witness. They tried to comfort her, 
but she was not to be comforted. She had gone off into a sort of 
trance when the vessel brought up this morning under St. Ann’s 
Head. 

“ The master was thinking about putting to sea when I got on 
board. He and all the people were very much surprised to hear 
that you had escaped; but the difficulty seemed to be break the 
news to your wife. The master promised not to sail till you ap- 
peared, and I promised to come and hurry you on.” 

“ Thank ye, thank ye, my kind friend!” I exclaimed, shaking 
him by the hand. ‘ * But my wife — tell me about my wife. How 
did she bear the sudden reaction?” 

“ It did her all the good in the w r orld,” he answered, cheerfully. 
“ The old master, who is a canny man, went down into the cabin 
and began to talk of the wonderful things which had occurred to 
his knowledge at sea — how people had been kept alive floating on a 
spar for a couple of days, and how others had swum a dozen miles 
or more, or been washed from the deck of one vessel right aboard 
another, and fallen overboard and been picked up floating on a grat- 
ing, or an oar, by a vessel coming up astern hours afterward. 

“ Suddenly the young lady lifted herself up, showing, that 
though she had appeared to be asleep, she had been listening to 
every word that had been said. 

“ ‘ Captain,’ said she, ‘ in mercy tell me whother you believe that 
my husband’s life has been preserved by any of the means you 
speak of. Do not deceive me. Do not keep me in doubt.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Not for all the world would I deceive you, young leddy, ’ 
said the master; ‘ I will tell you what I believe to be the truth, 
that your husband got floated on shore last night, and that he is not 
a great way off, to prove to you that what I say is true. ’ 

“ Oh, did not she cry out with joy and thankfulness, and then 
the old master told me what he had s£id, and charged me to come 
on here as fast I could to bring you on board.” 

My two young friends insisted on accompanying me all the way 
back to the vessel, about three miles along the southern shores of 
the Firth, and thankful indeed was I for their support. It showed 
me how an old man must feel when his strength is failing him, and 
be has a long journey to perform, It taught me always to have 


132 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


more compassion for advancing age than I had before been inclined 
to feel. 

I can .not describe the unspeakable joy it was to my wife and me 
to meet each other again, after the dreadful anxiety we had both 
of us experienced, and the dangers we had gone through. I was 
unwilling to trust her again on the treacherous ocean, even for the 
short passage round to Leith; but she entreated me not to be so 
mistrustful of Providence, who had been so merciful to us, and 
urged me to continue the voyage. I felt at the time that she was 
right, and thal, instead of considering myself as under a curse, I 
ought to acknowledge that each time I had been shipwrecked, I 
had received a special mark of God’s favor, for my life had been 
preserved, while so many others of my fellow-creatures had lost 
theirs. Instead, therefore, of taking her on shore, and going on to 
St. Andrews, as I had at first proposed doing, I agreed to remain 
on board the smack. I could not sufficiently thank the two young 
fishermen for the labor and trouble they had taken for my sake. 
The)' laughed when I talked about it. 

“ Hoot! it’s just nothing. We ken by your looks that you would 
do the same for us, so say no more about it, mon,” was the answer 
they both gave. I hope they were right in the favorable opinion 
they had formed of me. 

In the afternoon, the weather having completely moderated, we 
sailed. What a contrast did the next uight afford to the previous 
one! The stars came out, and the moon shone forth, playing 
brightly on the tranquil waters, just rippled over with a light 
breeze, which sent us along smoothly on our course. Margaret sat 
on the deck with me, watching the scene with a delighted eye and 
thankful heart. Our conversation w T as far too solemn for repetition. 

“ Oh, Willand, never let us again doubt God’s mercy and kindness 
toward us. At this hour last night how stormy and dark was the 
ocean; how full of anguish and misery were our hearts; how 
utterly hopeless did everything appear; not a gleam burst forth to 
give us consolation! We were violently torn from each other, it 
seemed, never to be united again on earlli, neither of us knowing 
what had become of the other* and now see how the face of nature 
smiles! Once more we are united, and all our prospects appear 
bright and happy.” 

Thus we talked on, and, thankful for the present, did not dream 
that storms of adversity might yet be in store for us, yet not sent 
without a gracious and merciful object to try and improve our 
hearts, 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


133 


We reached Leith in safety, and as neither of us had before been 
in Edinburgh, we spent some days there to view that beautiful and 
interesting city. Such it was even in those days; but though it has 
lost somewhat in picturesque effect, it has dnce then been greatly 
improved. 

It may seem strange that a sailor should be afraid of trusting 
himself at sea; but reason as I might, I could not bring myself to 
take my wife to the south by water. I therefore prepared to convey 
her to London by coach, and from thence to Portsmouth. The ex- 
pense was very great; but I promised her that I would toil hard in 
whatever occupation I undertook to make it up, and at last she 
acceded to my wishes. We calculated that we should be about a 
week or ten days getting to London, for those were times when 
even the coaches on the great northern road went very leisurely 
along, and it was not for some time after that they were superseded 
by the fast London and Edinburgh mail. Times have indeed 
changed with all of us. 

We left Edinburgh one morning at day -break, and proceeded 
south to Berwick, where we stopped. Our next stage was Tork. 
There we rested the greater part of the day, for my wife seemed 
very much fatigued, and when I saw how fine the weather con- 
tinued, I began to repent that I had not gone, as she wished, by 
sea. I had placed h#r inside, while I went on the top of the coach. 

I observed that our fat old coachman, who, although it was sum- 
mer weather, was muffled up in a great-coat, with a red comforter 
up to his eyes, whenever we stopped to change horses went into the 
bar of the roadside inn and took a pretty stiff glass of brandy and 
water to keep out the damp, as he told his passengers. At last four 
rather frisky horses were brought out and harnessed to the coach. 

“ Steady now, Mr. Currycomb; we have some ugly hills to go up 
and down,” remarked one of the passengers who had watched his 
drinking proceedings with some little anxiety. 

“01i, never fear me, sir,” answered the old man, in a thick, 
husky voice. “ I’ve driven this road, man and boy, for the last 
fifty years, and I should think I know how to take a coach along it 
without anybody telling me Iidw to do it, do you see. If I thinks 
it’s best to trot down a hill why I’ll do it, and no one shall tell me 
not. That’s what I’ve got to say.” 

I have frequently met the same sort of obstinate characters 
among seamen, the very men who manage to get their ships cast 
away; but I fancied that they were not to be found among those 
who live among the civilizing influences of the shore. 


134 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


For some time we went on pretty well, though now and then the 
overloaded coach going down a hill rocked to and fro pretty vio- 
lently. When we slopped the next time a gentleman who had gone 
in the inside, because there was no place on the outside, said that 
he had never been accustomed to travel inside, and that it made 
him very ill, and asked if any gentleman would be willing to change 
places with him, and lhat, as he had already paid his fare, it would 
not put anybody who would so oblige him to further cost. 

I at once said, that as my wife was inside, I should be very happy 
to be the means of accommodating him, so he mounted on the top 
of the coach, and I joined Margaret inside. Away we went once 
more rattling along over the road. The gentleman, I found, whose 
seat I had got had no idea that the coachman was the worse for 
liquor, but fancied that the rocking’ of the coach, which I had ob- 
served so palpably from the outside, was only the usual motion, 
and that he would be free from it outside. Suddenly I felt that 
we were going on much faster than usual. 

“What is the matter?” exclaimed Margaret, as clouds of dust 
arose on each hand, and we saw people starting aside and looking 
anxiously after us as we were whirled along. “ Oh, the horses 
have run away!” 

We heard the passengers hallooing and shouting to the coachman 
to stop his horses, tu pull up; but he either did not heed them or 
could not obey them. On we dashed at a furious rate. We saw 
by the appearance of some small, red brick houses, scattered here 
and there, that we were approaching a town. I placed myself by 
Margaret’s side, and held her tightly down. 

On we whirled. Round went the huge vehicle with a swing. 
There w r as a terrific crash. We felt the coach dragged some little 
way; groans and shrieks and cries arose around us. The coach 
stopped. The traces had been cut, and the horses galloped off. I 
looked with intense anxiety at my wife’s countenance. She w^as 
pale, but she assured me that she was unhurt. I had held her 
firmly, so as to break the shock when the coach went over her. 

People came to help us out, and my wife was conducted into a 
house close at hand, to winch the owner invited us. But dreadful 
indeed was the scene w r hich met my eyes as I glanced round over 
the wrack of the coach. The gentleman who had just changed 
places with me was lying dead on the pavement, with three or four 
other passengers; the old coachman lay a corpse, mangled horribly 
by the heels of the horses, over which he had been thiwn, and not 
one of the passengers had escaped some severe injury; while the 


WILL WEATHEBHELM. 


135 


poor guard had his arm broken, and his horn doubled up under 
him. 

I went into the house, and sat down. “ Wife,” said I, you are 
right; God watches over us at sea as well as on land, and accidents 
may occur on shore as well as on the ocean. Why He has thought 
fit to preserve us, while others have been allowed to perish, I know 
not; I can only take the cup of blessing and be thankful. I will 
never again attempt to escape out of His hand by endeavoring to 
avoid a possible danger.” 

The gentleman and his wife were very much interested in the 
account Margaret and I gave of ourselves, and invited us to remain 
a whole day with them, that she might recover from her fatigue. 
It is one of Ihe pleasantest things in life to thus receive unexpected 
kindness from strangers, who can have no thought or hope of rec- 
ompense. It is satisfactory at the time, and makes one think 
better of the common human nature which unites us to our fellow- 
beings. I told our new friend of all the shipwrecks I had suffered. 

*' Ah! there are as many on shore, depend upon it, as on the 
ocean,” he answered. “ On shore they are the worst, because they 
occur generally through our own folly and ignorance and vice. 
How many a young man has started fairly in life, and yet before 
many years have passed he has made a complete shipwreck of all 
the bright promises on which his friends trusted, with himself alone 
to blame, because he refused to consult, or to be guided by, the only 
sure chart and compass which could guide him aright! For what 
purpose did the wise King of Israel— the wisest of the kings of the 
earth — write his proverbs, do you think? Not for his own satisfac- 
tion or amusement, but because he felt it a sacred duty he owed to 
posterity to give the result of his own meditations, of his observa- 
tions, and of his own bitter experience. Yet how few men, com- 
paratively, go to that book of books for counsel, for guidance, and 
direction! Where can be found more ample directions for getting 
on in life, as the phrase is, for making money, for becoming great 
in this world even, than the Book of Solomon affords?” 

I agreed with my kind and thoughtful host, and promised to 
study that work more than I had ever before done. I ought to 
have said that I would begin and study it— for, alas! how com- 
pletely had I before neglected it. 

After this extraordinary incident, I believe that, had I been near a 
port, I should have again embarked for London; but as it was, we 
agreed to continue our journey by land. We reached London in 
safety. 


136 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


We did not stay there long. The bustle and noise, and seeming 
confusion, after the complete quiet of our Shetland life, was so 
wearying, that, having seen some of the chief lions of that great 
city, we were glad to set off by the coach for Portsmouth. 

Aunt Bretta was delighted to receive us, and my jovial, kind- 
hearted uncle welcomed us most cordially. I thought Aunt Bretta 
would never have ceased asking questions about dear old Shetland. 
A stranger would have supposed, from her expressions about it, that 
there did not exist a more delightful spot on earth. 

Margaret, however, was never weary of replying to all the in- 
quiries made. I never saw Iwo people suit each other so well as my 
aunt and wife— the one so hearty, full of life and spirits, and brim- 
ming over with the milk of human kindness — the other so tranquil, 
so sensible, and sweet-tempered. 

My uncle and I also got on capitally together. I admired his 
jovial, frank, hearty, and kind disposition, his thorough upright- 
ness and hatred of deceit, while he found in me enough good quali- 
ties to like, and was pleased because I admired him and was able 
to talk with him frankly and openly on all subjects. That is, I be- 
lieve, the great secret of friendship. Mutual esteem and perfect 
confidence are the only foundation on which it can be built up and 
made perfect. Both parties to the bond must feel that they appre- 
ciate each other’s motives and objects, and that every allowance 
will be made for what they say, and the best possible construction 
put on their words. When two people meet between whom such 
qualifications exist, their friendship is lasting. 

My uncle told me, that as he knew I should not wish to be idle, 
he had obtained a situation for me, which he thought I should like, 
as suitable to my former habits. 

“ It is in a private dockyard, where, if you are steady and at- 
tentive, you will, I am certain, obtain a still more lucrative employ- 
ment,” he remarked; “ had it been war time I should have tried to 
obtain an appointment in the Royal Dockyard, because you would 
then have had protection from the press-gang; but now you need 
have no fear of that.” 

Two days after that war again broke out with France! It was 
arranged to our mutual satisfaction that Margaret and I should per- 
manently take up our abode with our relatives. They had a couple 
of spare-rooms, which they had at times let to lodgers, so that we 
in no way incommode I them. 

Never was there a more happy family party. We were not over- 
refined; we did not set up for people of that sort, it must be remem- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


137 


bered, or call ourselves gentlemen and ladies. Nor did our guests. 
They were, however, always well-behaved, civil people, who would 
Oil no account have committed any real solecism in good manners. 

Old Jerry Vincent used to look in, as before, very frequently, 
with a budget of his funny stories, to which other neighbors gladly 
came to listen. There was invariably much laughter, and no small 
amount of tea and toba 2 co consumed, not to speak occasionally of 
some more potent compound; but my uncle took good care that 
none of his guests should pass the limits of sobriety, though he had 
at times some little difficulty in keeping old Jerry in order. I 
should remark that old Jerry was an exception to the general char- 
acter of our guests, who were as a rule of a much higher rank in 
the social scale. I remember especially one of the old man’s stories 
which is worth recording. 

“ You must know, mates,” said he, “ once upon a time I be- 
longed to a brig of war on the Newfoundland station. It isn’t just 
the place, in my opinion, that a man would wish to spend his life 
in. Too much frost and fog, and wind and rain, to be pleasant. 
But bad as it was, I thought there was a worse, place to be in, and 
that was aboard my own ship. We never know when we are well 
off. I don’t think I was right, do ye see; but rather, I am very 
well convinced, that I was a fool. Young men sometimes don’t 
find that out till it’s too late. Howsomedever, I found another fool 
as big as myself, which is never very difficult when you look for 
him, and he and I agreed to run from the ship. Now, before I go 
on with my story. I’ll just ask one or two of you young men, have 
any of you ever seen the biggest fool in the world? Well, I thought 
not; you can’t say that you have, and, what’s more, you never 
will. If you think that you have got hold of him, you may be 
sure that you’ll fall in with a bigger before long somewhere else. 
That is my philosophy, and I am not far wrong, depend on it. 

“Well, where was 1? Oh, I know. My mate’s name — t’other 
fool, I mean— was Abraham Coxe. The ship had put into St. 
John’s, Newfoundland. He and I belonged to the same boat’s 
crew. Soon after we got there we were sent on shore to water. 
After some time, as the rest of our party were rolling the casks 
down to the beach, we managed to slip away, and made a run of it 
for a mile or more, till we could stow ourselves snug inside the 
walls of an old cottage. As soon as it was dark we came out, and 
set off as hard as we could go right into the country. We thought 
some one was following us, but we were wrong. The officers knew 
better than we did what sort of a place we had got into, and calcu- 


138 


WILL WEATHEEHELH. 


lated that we shouldn’t he long before wishing ourselves back 
again. 

“ At night we reached a cottage, where the good people treated us 
kindly, for, do ye see, we spun them a long yarn, which hadn’t a 
word of truth in it, about our being sent away up there to look after 
a shipmate who had lost his senses. So, after we had eaten and 
drunken and taken a good snooze, we set off again toward the 
mountains, for we had a notion that we should find our way some- 
how or other into America. "We expected to fall in with another 
village, but we were mistaken, and by dinner-time we began to 
feel very peckish. There was no use standing still, so we walked 
on and on till we got further up among the mountains, and as the 
sun was hid by clouds, and there was no wind, we very soon lost our 
way. 

“ Now, do ye see, to lose your way with a full stomach is not 
altogether pleasant, but to lose it on an empty one, and not to know 
where a dinner is to be found, is worse any day than to get three 
dozen. That’s got quickly orer, and you know the worst. We had 
no baccy neither, and the air up there sharpened our teeth till we 
were ready to bite our tongues out. 

“ ‘ Well, mate,’ says I to Abraham Coxe, ‘ I wish that I were safe 
aboard again. I don’t by no manner of means like these short 
commons. ’ 

“ ‘ Wait a bit till we have been knocking about for two or three 
days more, and then cry out, my bo’,’ says he, for he was a regular 
Job’s comforter, that he was. 

“ Well, evening was coming on, and as we couldn’t find our wav 
out of the mountains, nor get any food either, we thought that we 
might as well look out for a warmth berth to sleep in at night. At 
last we saw a small hole in a rock, which looked like the mouth of 
a cave. 

“ * There will be a comfortable bed-place inside that place, mate,’ 
says I, as I poked my head into the hole, while Abraham stood 
outside. It was almost dark inside, but still there was light enough 
to make out that there was a good big place further in. I was going 
along on my hands and knees, when what should I see but several 
animals like biggish pigs crawling about. I was wondering what 
they were, when I heard Abraham Coxe sing out : 

“ ‘ Quick, Jerry, quick, get out of the cave, for there is a great 
big bear coming along the valley, and she’s close aboard of us!’ 

“ It was all very well for Coxe to say, get out of the cave; but that 
was more than I could do in a hurry without turning round, when 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


139 


I might have had all the young hears attacking my rump, saving 
your presence, ladies. Coxe also didn t stop to help me. but scam- 
pered off as hard as his legs could carry him. I was going to make 
the best of my way after him, when I saw a big white bear not 
three fathoms off, evidently steering for the very place itself. 

“ There was no use trying to get out, for to a certainty the brute 
would have grappled me in a moment; so I drew back, thinking to 
remain concealed. Just then I remembered the beasts I had seen 
inside, and I guessed that they were the bear’s cubs, and that I had 
taken possession of her abode. It was not a pleasant idea, certainly, 
but there was no help for it. In another minute the great big slie- 
bear came snuffing up to the hole where I lay. I thought that it 
was all up with me’, and expected every moment to be made into a 
supper for the bear and her cubs. The little beasls were all the 
time licking my heels just to have a taste, I thought, of what was 
to come. The bear began to growl, I fancied because she found me 
inside; but I believe it was just her way of talking to her cubs. 
Thinks I to myself, L’ll have a fight for it; so I doubled my fists, 
intending to give her a good lick on the eye before she eat me, 
when, just as I thought that she was going to make a grab at me, 
she slued round and began to back into the cave stern foremost. 

“ ‘ Ho! ho!’ says I to myself, ‘ if you goes to make a stern-board, 
old gal. I’ll rake you before you shows your broadside to me again;’ 
so on that I whips out my long knife, which I had tucked away in 
my belt, with a lanyard round my neck, and drove it with all my 
force right into her. The more she backed, and the louder she 
growled, the harder and faster I drove in the knife. Still she came 
backing and backing, and I didn’t like the prospect at all. I 
thought to myself, * If she drives me up against the end of the cave, 
she’ll squeeze all the breath out of my body, to a certainty.’ 

“ At last, however, when she got to the narrowest part of the 
hole, she sunk down from loss of blood. I thought she would per- 
haps begin to move on again, but she didn’t. After she had given 
a few growls, which grew fainter and fainter, I made sure she was 
dead. 

“ As I was pretty rtight famished, thinks I to myself, * I’ll have 
some steaks out of you, old gal, at all events: ’ so 1 cut three or four 
fine steaks out of her rump (saving your pardon, Mrs. Kelson, and 
ladies all), and precious juicy and nice to look at they were; but 
how to dress them was the job. At first I thought that I should 
have to eat them raw, as 1 had often done salt beef; but on hunting 
about on a higher part of the cave, I found a quantity of diy sticks 


140 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


and leaves which had served the bears for a bed, I suppose. Piling 
up some of them, I struck a light, and made a fire to dress the steaks, 
while the young cubs kept rubbing against me, and couldn’t make 
out whether I was their mother or their daddy I believe. 1 gave 
them each a bit of steak, which they seemed to think not bad suck- 
ing. 

“ You see I was inside the cave, though there was just room to 
look out over the body of the dead bear, but scarcely space enough 
for me to have squeezed myself out if I had wished it. I didn’t 
just then wish to go out, for I was very comfortable; I had a dry 
roof over my head, and company too, and plenty to eat; only I 
should have liked a glass of grog to wash down the food. 

“ Well, as I was eating the bear’s steak, I thought to myself, * It 
would have been better for Abraham Coxe if he had stuck to his 
old shipmate instead of running away at sight of danger. ’ 

‘ ‘ I had just finished supper, and was thinking of turning in for 
the night, when I heard a loud growl at the mouth of the cave. I 
made sure that it was the she-bear come to life again, for I was 
getting drowsy, and I began to think what she would say to me for 
having stolen her steaks. However, at last I got up and looked out, 
and there I saw a great big he-bear walking about in front of the 
cave, and I have no doubt scolding his wife for not getting out of 
his way to let him in. At last he began to back astern, but he 
couldn’t make her move. 

“ ‘ Growl away, my bo’,” says I. * If you keep on at that game, 
I’ll make steaks of you before long. ’ 

“ I sat as quiet as possible, picking my teeth with the point of my 
knife, for the steaks were rather tough, you may guess. The little 
bears, playful like, were running about round me, while the old 
bear was grumbling away outside, thinking maybe that his wife had 
taken a drop too much, and couldn’t get up. Alb of a sudden I 
heard a great hullabaloo, and several shots were fired, and down came 
the old bear as dead as a door nail in front of the cave. 

“ Among other voices, I recognized that of Abraham Coxe. ‘ My 
poor mate is killed^ and eaten by the bears,’ says he; ‘ but I may 
as well have his knife, and his oaccy-box and buttons, if they ain’t 
eaten too.’ 

“ ‘ No, I ain’t eaten nor dead either, you cowardly rascal, and I 
hope a better man nor you may have my traps when I do go,’ I 
sings out, for I was in a towering rage at being deserted. 

“ At first the people were going to run away, thinking it was my 
ghost that was speaking; but wlien I sung out again, and told them 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


141 


lhat I was a living man, some of them took courage, and came and 
dragged the two old bears out of the way. At last I crawled out, 
followed by the young cubs, to the great astonishment of all who 
saw us. To make a long story short, this was the way how the 
people had come to my rescue. When Coxe ran away, not know- 
ing where he went, he ran right into the village, which was all the 
time close to us. When the villagers heard what had happened, 
they all came out to have a shot at the bears, not expecting to find me 
alive. They seemed very glad I had escaped, and carried me back in 
triumph to the village. As it was through our means they got two 
bears and a number of cubs, they treated us very kindly, and 
pressed us to stay with them. When, however, we found that we 
should never reach America by going over the mountains, and as we 
Tiad no fancy to spend a winter in this outlandish sort of a place, 
seeing lhat the summer wasn’t Very pleasant, we judged it best to 
go back to our ship and give ourselves up. We got three dozen 
apiece, which I can only say we richly deserved, and neither of 
us ever attempted to desert again. ‘ Let well alone,’ I used to say. 

If I do get away, I shall only find myself before long on board 
another ship, and worse off than before, probably.’ ” 

Jerry’s advice was very sound. Many a man deserts to obtain an 
uncertain good, and finds, when too late, that he has secured a cer- 
tain ill. 

Those truly were pleasant evenings at our quiet little house. I 
wish that I could recollect all old Jerry’s stories. I may perhaps 
call to mind a few more another day, for I think that they are well 
worthy of repetition. 


CHAPTER X. 

Happiness at home— War breaks out again— Press-gangs abroad— Mysterious 
appearance of Charley Iffley— His unaccountable conduct— Anecdotes about 
smugglers— The old couple and their lost son— Sea-yarns. 

No happiness could be more complete than ours, and I saw no 
reason why it should not be permanent. Happy it undoubtedly is 
that we do not see the dark clouds of adversity gathering in the 
horizon, yet it would be wiser in men if they would still recollect 
that, however bright the sky and fine the weather, storms may arise, 
and thick mists may overshadow them— perhaps sent as punish- 
ments, perhaps in mercy to try and purify them. I was actively en- 
gaged all day in the duties of my office, and in the evening, when 


142 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


I returned home, I was welcomed by the smiles of my wife, and the 
cordial kindness of Aunt Bretla. I desired no change — I should have 
been content to live the same sort of life to the end of my days. I 
had a few little rubs and annoyances to contend with in my em- 
ployment, but I did not allow them to vex me, and went on steadily 
doing my duty, neither turning to the right hand nor to the left. 

War with France had again broken out, and England was mak- 
ing every effort to renew the struggle with the numerous foes which 
her prosperity and greatness had won for her. A difficulty existed 
then, as now, in manning the navy, and the press-gangs were always 
hard at work endeavoring to secure by force or stratagem the nec- 
essary crews for the ships. 

I knew that I was not exempt from the risk of being taken, but as 
I dressed in shore-going clothes, and as I was not likely to meet 
any of my old shipmates or other people who knew me to have been 
a seaman, I had little fear on the subject. Had I been single and 
without the-ties of home, I would gladly have once more gone afloat 
to serve my country; but how could I be expected to tear myself 
from all I loved on earth to do duly before the mast among rough 
and uneducated men, subject to all the rigors of the naval discipline; 
of those days? I talked the subject over with my uncle. 

“ If the time comes when every man who can handle a rope is; 
wanted, I shall be the first to say ‘ Go,’ ” said he. “ Till then, my 
boy, stay at home, do your duty, and look after your wife.” 

I was too glad to follow his advice. There was no grass growing 
in the streets of Portsmouth in those days. The place swarmed 
with seamen and officers; troops were marching in and out; car- 
riages- and- four Were dashing down from London; bands were play- 
ing; the hotels swarmed with visitors come to see their friends off; 
ships were being commissioned and fitted out with unwonted rapid- 
ity; and all was life, activity, and energy. I now and then, on my 
way home, took a walk up High Street, for the amusement of ob- 
serving the bustling, laughing, talking, busy throng. 

One evening, as I turned to go back, my eye fell on the counte- 
nance of a man whose features I felt sure I knew. In an instant I 
recollected that they were those of Charles Ifflev. Forgetting all I 
had heard to his disparagement, I was going to follow him, when 
he turned into a cross street among a crowd who were looking on 
at some itinerant tumblers, and I lost sight of him. I felt very 
sorry, for I should have been glad to have shaken him again by the 
hand and invited him to our house. My wife and aunt used con- 
stantly to walk out a little way on the common to meet me. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


143 


Two days after that, when they met me, they told me that, in the 
morning, as they were returning home, they had suddenly encount- 
ered Charles Iffley. He knew them at once, but did not speak. He 
stopped for an instant, stared hard at them, and then moved on. 
When, however, they reached our house door, they observed that 
he had followed them at a distance and remarked where they had 
gone in. Just as they had finished their account, the very person 
we^were speaking of appeared at the further end of the road coming 
toward us. Directly, however, he saw us, he stopped short and 
looked at me with an astonished and inquiring gaze. He remained 
long enough, apparently, to ascertain positively who it was. At 
first he evidently was in doubt. He had heard of my death, and 
believed that I was dead, I concluded, and that when he saw me 
alive, and, as he might have suspected, married to the very woman 
who had refused to become his wife, he at first could not trust his 
senses. 

My impulse was immediately to run forward to meet him, but 
my wife pressed my arm so tightly that I could not leave her. 

“ No, no, do not go,” she whispered. “ I do not like his look. 
He means us mischief. ’ ’ She must have felt very strongly, I knew 
before she could have given way to such an expression. Of course, 
I yielded to her wish, though it went much against my feelings to 
turn away from my old associate, ill as I had too much reason to 
think of him. I could not help agreeing with my wife, as I watched 
him, that I did not like his look. There was something very evil 
in his expression as he watched us proceeding toward our home, and 
I could no longer have any doubt that he recognized me. I never 
before had seen his countenance wear so malignant an expression, 
and I feared, not without reason, that even at that moment he was 
plotting to do us some mischief. A picture I had once seen was 
forcibly recalled to my memory. It represented Satan watching 
our first parents in Paradise, and when he is envying them the hap- 
piness he can never enjoy, he is considering how lie may the most 
effectually destroy it. 

When we got home, we talked the matter over. I did not express 
my own suspicions to my wife, as they could not fail to agitate her, 
but I endeavored rather to make light of it, and to appear as if I 
hoped, should Charles Iffley feel any desire of revenge, that, he 
would be unable to effect it. I felt regret, also, that I had not hur- 
ried after Iffley. Whatever were his feelings, I thought that I might 
perhaps have turned liis heart to better thoughts by talking of by- 
gone days and of our early friendship, “ Well, it may not yet be 


144 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


too late,” I thought to myself; “ I will seek him out and try to per- 
suade him to discard those feelings of jealousy and envy which are 
now influencing him.” When, however, 1 mentioned my inten- 
tions to Uncle Kelson, he rather laughed at my notion. 

“ An idle, conceited young puppy. What business has he to in- 
terfere with you or yours?” he exclaimed. “ Because a girl, of 
whom he is utterly unworthy, does not choose to have anything to 
say to him, is he to set himself up and to look daggers at any man 
she may happen to marry? Let him alone. Let him go his own 
gait, as your Aunt Bretta would say. He’ll find a rope long enough 
to hang himself, depend on it.” 

My uncle thought he was giving good advice, but even at the 
time I felt that better is given elsewhere : ‘ ‘ Therefore, if thine 
enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so 
doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. Be not overcome 
of evil, but overcome evil with good.” I felt that if I could have 
met with Iffley, [ might have heaped coals of fire on his head. I 
might have softened his heart, just as the contents of a pot are 
melted by piling up coals, not only around it, but on the very head 
or top of it. I did not do what I felt and knew was right, and the 
result of my neglect will be seen. 

Aunt Bretta was more indignant than any of us with Iffley. “ If 
he does come to the door, in my opinion, he ought to be turned 
away!” she exclaimed. “ The idea of a person whom I knew as a 
little boy, glad to receive a slice of gingerbread, giving himself such 
airs! I have no notion of it.” This was very severe for Aunt 
Bretta, whose heart was kindness itself. 

On making inquiries of the servant, she discovered that a man 
exactly answering his description had, while they were out, knocked 
at the door and asked all sorts of questions. 

“ She could not mind what exactly,” she said. “ They were about 
Mr. Wetherholm. Where he had come from? When he had got 
married? What he was doing? And all sorts of such like things. ” 

After I had heard this account of the servant-girl, I could not 
help feeling somewhat suspicious of Iffley ’s object. The mere ask- 
ing them was very natural, and had he come frankly forward to 
meet us, I should not have entertained any ill thoughts of him; but 
now, in spite of all my resolution, I could not help dreading that he 
contemplated doing me some mischief or other. Still I did my best 
to get rid of such thoughts of an old friend, for they were not 
pleasant. 

When the evening came, I forgot all about the matter. Old Jerry 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


145 


Vincent looked in, and several other friends, among them two 
former shipmates of Uncle Kelson’s, and anecdotes and stories in- 
numerable were told. We got on the subject of smuggling. In those 
days it was certainly not looked on in its proper light, and a smug- 
gler, if he was bold and daring, was considered a very fine fellow. 
Most of our guests were Hampshire or Isle of Wight men, and had 
been personally acquainted with many of the smugglers in their 
day, and might," perhaps, not have refused to purchase any of the 
goods they had to offer. 

“ Some of you may have known Jim Dore?” began Jerry. 

One or two nodded. 

“ I thought' so,” said Jerry. “Well, then, when he began the 
work he was very young, and there wasn’t a bolder or more daring 
hand in the trade. We were boys together, and a braver fellow or 
better seaman never stepped. He was a Yarmouth man, born and 
bred, just inside the Needles there. There was a large family of 
them. He wasn’t always as prudent as he might be, and one day 
he and the cutter he was in was taken with three hundred tubs on 
board. Of course he was sent to serve his majesty. When he 
found that there was no help for it, he vowed that he would do his 
duty like a man, and he kept his word. 

“ He was sent aboard a brig of war employed in looking after 
smugglers, and though before she had never taken one, now scarcely 
a month passed that through his means she did not make a prize. 

“ Once upon a time the brig attacked a large armed smuggler, 
the crew of which had vowed that they never would be taken alive. 
There was a desperate fight for more than three hours, and in the 
end the smugglers kept their word, for they went down with colors 
flying, under the guns of the brig which was just about to board 
them. On this occasion, as on every other, Dore behaved so bravely 
that the captain put him on the quarter-deck, and if he had chosen 
to follow it, there was the road open to him to become an admiral. 
But you know there are people who can not give up habits, so to 
speak, born and bred with them, as one may say. 

“ Well, Dore’s time of servitude was up for the smuggling affair, 
and soon after that the brig put into Portsmouth harbor. The next 
day Dore got leave to go and see his friends, so he hired a wherry, 
and got ready for a start for Yarmouth. Just as he was shoving 
off I saw him and asked him for a cast down there, as I had some 
friends in those days in the same place. Now, though he was an 
officer with a cocked hat on his head, and a sword by his side, I 
knew that he was in no way proud at all events. He told me to 


146 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


jump into the boat, by all means. On our way down I asked him 
if he was going to be long away from his ship. 

“ ‘ Longaway. do you say?’ he answered, in an indignant tone. 
4 I’ll tell you what it is, Vincent, it will be long, I’m thinking, be- 
fore I go back again. I’ve been made an officer of, it’s true, but I 
haven’t been treated as one or looked on as one, because I wasn’t 
born a gentleman, and slavery in a cocked hat I, for one, will not 
bear. ’ 

“In that way he talked till we got pretty nearly down to Yar- 
mouth. At last he worked himself up into a regular rage, for he 
was a passionate man, do you see. 

44 ‘ Give us a knife, some one of you, ’ he sung out. 

“ I handed him mine. When he got it he began cutting off the 
buttons from his coat. Then he unbuckled his sword, and took off 
his hat. He jumped up, and holding all the things together, as it 
were in a lump, he hove tuem away into the sea as far from him as 
he could, uttering at the same time a loud and deep curse. ‘ There 
goes the last link of the chain that binds me to slavery!’ he ex- 
claimed. 4 Now, my lads, I’m once more Jim Dore, the bold 
smuggler. ’ 

4 ‘ The men in the boat thought what he had done was very fine, 
and so did I in those days, and so we all cheered him over and over 
again. When he landed at Yarmouth, every one turned out to 
welcome him as if he had been an admiral just come home after a 
great victory; and certainly the people did make much of him. 
Those Yarmouth men are great smugglers, there’s no doubt about 
it. I don’t think, however, myself, as I did in those days. Dore 
was a brave man, and it’s a great pity he had not been taught better, 
and he might have been an ornamsnt to the service he deserted. 

44 When his leave was up, and he did not return, an officer with a 
boat’s crew was sent to look for him. He got notice of their coming, 
and got stowed out of the way, for there were plenty of people tp help 
him. He had to keep in hiding for a long time, and often, I dare say, 
he wished himself back aboard the brig. When the war was over 
he took to smuggling again, and he soon got command of a large 
cutter. At last he and some other Yarmouth men went away in 
her, and from that day to this have never been heard of. It is sup- 
posed that the cutter was run down or foundered in a tremendous 
gale of wind, which sprung up soon after she was last seen. ’ ’ 

One of our friends who came from Poole in Dorsetshire, told us a 
very good story, when Jerry Vincent and one or two others sung 
out in chorus, 44 Howe! ho we! howe!” 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


147 


I asked what they meant. 

“ That is what we always say to a Poole man,” answered Jerry. 
“ Did you never hear tell of the Poole man and the owl?” 

I told him that I never had, and asked him for the story. 

“ Well, you must know that once upon a time there was a home- 
ward-hound Poole man just coming up Channel, and not far off the 
land, when, the night being somewhat dark, do ye see, an old owl 
flew by. ‘ Howe! howe! howe!’ cried the owl. 

“ The master, who had been dozing aft, thinking all the time, 
exactly as many another man does, that he was wide awake, just 
heard the sound as he roused up, and fancied that another skipper 
was hailing him. 

“ ‘ From Newfoundland!’ he sung out, rubbing his eyes, and 
dreaming that he saw the strange ship abeam. 

“ ‘ Howe! howe! howe!’ hooted the owl again. 

“ ‘ With fish,’ answered the. Poole man. 

“ * Howe! howe! howe!’ once more cried the old owl, as he was 
flying off. 

“ ‘ Over Poole bar with the next tide, please the pigs,’ sung out 
the skipper at the top of his voice, for fear those in the other craft 
wouldn't otherwise hear him. Nothing would ever persuade him 
that he hadn’t been talking all the time with the skipper of some 
outward-bound craft. 

“ That’s all very well, and it is not a bad story, and may be true, 
or it may not; but you Hampshire men are not all of you so very . 
clever,” answered Mr. Bexley, our Poole friend, who had himself 
been skipper of a merchantman. “ Have none of you ever heard 
speak of Botley assizes, eh?” 

1 asked him what he meant. 

“Why,” he answered, “you know Botley isn’t very far from 
Southampton. Once upon a time a party of young chaps belonging 
to Botley were returning from a merry-making of some sort, and as 
it happened, all of them but one were more than three sheets in the 
wind. For some reason or other, nothing would make this one 
touch a drop of liquor. As they were walking along they began to 
jeer him, and at last they declared that he had been guilty of a 
capital offense, because he had let the glass pass by, and they agreed 
that they would try him. Well, they came to a place near a 
wood, where there were a number of trees cut down, and there they 
all sat round, and the accused was placed in the middle. The most 
drunk of the party was chosen as judge, and the others were the 
counsel, some to accuse and the others to defend him. 


148 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


“ The poor fellow tried to get away, but his friends would not let 
him. He, of course, had nothing to say for himself, except that he 
did not choose to drink, and the upshot of his trial was that he was 
condemned to be hung. 

“ Unfortunately one of them had a rope with him, and without 
more ado they ran up 1 he culprit to the nearest tree. To be sure, 
they did intend to put the rope round his waist, but they were too 
drunk to know exactly what they were about, and by mistake 
slipped it, Jack Ketch fashion, round his neck. Having done this 
wise trick they all ran away, shrieking with laughter at the clever- 
ness of their joke. 

“ They were very much "surprised to find, the next morning, that 
the poor fellow was missing. At last they went out to look for 
him, and found him hanging where they had left him, but as dead 
as a church door. 

“ So, gentlemen, you see that the people in those parts are very 
clever chaps, and if you take them at their own value, there are 
none to be found like them in all the world. I have another story 
for you to prove this. 

“ One day a poor Jew fell into the Itchen. 

“ ‘ Oh, shave me! shave me! vill no one shave me?’ he sung out; 
but of all the people standing round there wasn’t one who would 
touch him with his fingers, because they looked on him as a dirty 
old Jew. 

“ At last they thought that though he was a Jew it was a shame 
to let him drown, so half a dozen or more of them ran off to get a 
rake to haul him out. One couldn’t find a rake, and another 
couldn’t find a rake; so, long before they came back, the poor Jew 
was drowned. That is the reason why we say, when a chap is a 
long time doing a thing that he ought to have done in a hurry, 

‘ He’s gone for a rake to haul out the Jew.’ ” 

“ Ay, ay, Mr. Bexley, but you know what the Poole man did 
when his pig got his head through the bars of the gate?” exclaimed 
Jerry Vincent, with a good-natured laugh. “ Why, you see, mates, 
when he found that he couldn’t haul it out, to save trouble he cut 
off the beast’s head. Some people in our parts would have sawed 
through the bars, but we don’t pretend to be wise, you know. 

“ I don’t mind telling a story against ourselves. Did any of you 
ever hear why the Downton people are called ‘ Moonrakers ’ ? They 
themselves don’t mind hearing the story. Once upon a time some 
Downton men had sunk some tubs in a big pond, and they were 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


140 


hard at work all night raking them up. While they were still en- 
gaged who should come by but a party of custom-house people. 

“ ‘What are you doing there, men?’ they asked. ‘Some mis- 
chief, no doubt. ’ 

“ ‘ Oh, no! please, kind gentlemen, we are only trying to rake 
the moon out of this pond, ’ answered the Downton men, quite in a 
simple voice. You see that the moon was at the time shining 
brightly down into the pond. 

“ ‘ Oh! is that all?’ said the custom-house people, thinking that 
they were a few simpletons escaped out of a mad house. On went 
the custom-house people. After a little time they came back. The 
smugglers had just got out their last tub. Some clouds meantime 
had come over the moon. ‘ Well, my men, have you got the moon 
at last?’ said the custom-house officer. 

“ ‘ Oh, yes, there’s little doubt about it, for it’s no longer there. 
If we haven’t got it, perhaps you can tell us who has.’ 

“This made the custom-house people feel sure that they were 
right in their conjectures; so on they went, little dreaming of the 
prize they had lost.” 

We all laughed heartily at Jerry Vincent’s and Mr. Bexley’s 
stories. 

“ I’ll tell you a story, for the truth of which I can vouch,” said 
Uncle Kelson. “ The circumstance only lately happened. So, 
strange as it may seem, there is no doubt about it. You all have 
heard speak of Sir Harry Burrard Neale, who commands just now 
the king’s yacht, the ‘ Royal Charlotte.’ The boatswain of her is 
a friend of mine, and last summer he got me a cast down to Wey- 
mouth, where I wanted to go to see the widow of an old shipmate 
I had promised to look after. We were just clear of the Needles. 
There was a light breeze and a smooth sea, when we made out a 
small boat standing toward us, seemingly as if she had come out of 
Poole harbor or Swanage. 

“ ‘ She seems to me to be a fishing-boat, and as if she wanted to 
speak us, Sir Harry, ’ said the first lieutenant, who had been spying 
at her through his glass. 

“ ‘ So I see,’ answered the captain. ‘ There seem to be two peo- 
ple in her making signals. It will not delay us much, so heave the 
ship to, and let us learn what they want.’ 

“ This was just like Sir Harry. Many a captain would have 
stood on and taken no notice of a poor fisherman’s boat, even had 
there been a dozen people waving in her. In a little time the boat 


150 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


came alongside, with a man and a woman in her, and they were 
certainly the rummest old couple you ever saw in your life. 

“ A midshipman hailed them, and asked them what they wanted. 
As well as we could make out, for they spoke very broad Scotch, 
they said that they wanted their son. 

“ ‘ Let them come aboard,’ said Sir Harry, kindly, * and we will 
hear what they have to say.’ 

“ With no little difficulty, after a good deal of pulling and haul- 
ing, we got the old couple upon deck, and let them aft to Sir Harry. 

“ ‘ For whom are you inquiring, my good people?’ asked the 
captain. 

“ 4 Our bairn, sir — our ain bairn,’ answered the old lady. c For 
many a weary week have we been looking for him, and never have 
our eyes rested on his bonnie face since the black day, near five long 
years ago, when he was carried away from us. Ah! it was a sair 
day, sirs.’ 

“ ‘ What is your son’s name, my good people?’ asked Sir Harry. 

“ ‘ David, sir — Davie Campbell. He was so called after his 
grandfather, who died in ’45, with mony other brave men,’ an- 
swered the old dame. 

‘“We have a man of that name on board, sir,’ remarked the first 
lieutenant to the captain. ‘ He is in the watch below. It will be 
strange if he should prove to be the man these poor souls are 
searching for. ’ 

“ ‘ Let him be called on deck, and we will see if they acknowl- 
edge him as their son,’ said Sir Harry. ‘There must be many 
hundred David Campbells in the world, I suspect, so do not raise 
their hopes too high by letting them know that at all events we 
know the name on board. ’ 

“ ‘ David Campbell! David Campbell!’ w T as passed along the 
decks, and in a minute a fine active young fellow came tumbling 
up from below. 

“ A mother’s eye was not to be deceived. She knew him in an 
instant, and toddled off as fast as her legs would carry her, fol- 
lowed by her husband, to meet him. ‘ He is, he is my ain bairn! 
There’s none like him!’ she cried; and not caring a fig for the 
officers and men standing around — before even he knew who she 
was — she had him clasped in her arms, and w T as covering his cheeks 
with kisses, while the old father had got hold of his hand and was 
tugging aw^ay at it just as a man in a hurry does at a bell-rope. 

“ Now comes the extraordinary part of the story. Campbell had 
been rather a wildish sort of a chap, and getting into some scrape, 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


151 


had gone on board a tender, at Leith I think it was, and entered the 
navy. He could not write, and was ashamed to get anyone to 
write for him, so his old father and mother did not know where he 
was, or whether he was alive or dead. 

“ A.t last their hearts grew weary at not hearing tidings of him, 
and they resolved to set out together to look out for their lost sheep; 
for you see they were decent people and well to do in the worl^l, so 
they had money to bear the expense, which was not slight. They 
had very little information to guide them. All they knew was, 
that their son had gone on board one of the king’s ships. A mother’s 
deep love and a father’s affection was the only compass by which 
they could steer their course. That did not fail them. They went 
from port to port, and visited every ship in harbor, and asked every 
seaman they met about their son, but nothing could they hear of 
him. At last, that very morning, a wagon had brought them to 
Poole, and seeing a ship in the offing, which was no other than the 
‘ Royal Charlotte,’ they had got a boatman to take them out to us. 

“ That, now, is what I call a providential circumstance; indeed, 
from all I have seen and learned since I came into the world, I am 
convinced that there is nothing happens in it by chance. The God 
of heaven orders all for the best in kindness to us; Sometimes, it is 
true, things do not occur exactly as we could wish, but that does 
not alter the rule; for if we could but see the end we should dis- 
cover that the very thing of which we most complain was in reality 
most for our good. Remember that, nephew, whenever you get 
into danger or difficulty; be sure that you do your duty, and all 
will come right at last. But I have not told you the end of my 
story. 

“ The Poole boatman was sent on shore, and the traps of the old 
couple were handed up on board. Like canny Scotch people, they 
had not let their property remain out of their sight, but had brought 
it with them. It was delightful to see their pleasure when Sir Harry 
invited them to go on to Weymouth, and to live on board as long as 
the ship remained there; and he gave orders to have a screen put up 
for their accommodation. That, too, was just like him. There is 
not another man in the service more considerate or kind to all below 
him. All, too,' who know him love him; and his majesty, I be- 
lieve, trusts him more, and loves him more, than he does all his 
courtiers put together. 

“ Never have I seen a pair of old folks look more happy, as their 
son went about showing them round the ship, and when all the 
officers and crew spoke kindly to them as they passed, 


152 


WILL WEATHEIlHELM* 


“ The king, too, when he came on board and heard the story, 
was very much interested, and sent for them to have a talk with 
them. They did not know who he was, but when they came out 
of the cabin they said that he was one of the kindest old gentlemen 
they had ever see ; that he had had a long crack with them all 
about bonny Scotland and Scotch people; and that he had asked 
tkeuua heap of questions about their adventures. 

“You should have seen their look of surprise when they heard 
that it was his gracious majesty himself.* They wanted to go back 
to fall down on their knees, and to ask his pardon for talking so 
freely with him, and it was not till we assured them that the king 
talked just in the same way with any of the crew, that we could 
quiet them and make them believe that all was right. 

“ At last, having assured themselves that their son was well and 
happy, they returned with contented hearts to Scotland, and many 
has been the long yarn they have spun, I doubt not, about King 
George and all the wonders they have seen on their travels.” 

Every one was very much interested in my uncle’s story. A 
young man who was present, a friend of mine, belonging to a 
revenue cutter, observed, “ We were talking of smugglers just 
now. There is no end to the dodges they are up to. 

“ Not long ago, soon after I joined the ‘ Lively,’ it had come on 
to blow pretty fresh, and we had had a dirty night of it, when just 
as morning broke we made out a cutter standing in for the land to 
the eastward of Weymouth, and about two miles from us. The 
wind was from the north-west, and it had kicked up a nasty sea, 
running pretty high, as it well knows how to do in that part of the 
Channel. 

“ Our old mate, Mr. Futlock, had the morning watch. It was 
never his brightest time, for though he did not actually get tipsy, 
the reaction following the four or five pretty stiff glasses of grog 
which he drank at night, generally at this time took place. I was 
in his watch. 

“ ‘ Youngster,’ said he to me, ‘ hand me the glass, and let us see 
if we can make out what that fellow is. ’ 

“ I brought him the glass, which was kept hung up in beckets 
within the companion-hatch. I had got my sea-legS aboard pretty 
well, but I confess that I felt very queer that morning in certain 
regions, ranging from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, 

* Admiral Sir Harry Burrard Neale was a great-uncle of the author, and the 
account is given as it was narrated to him many years ago. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


153 


and I doubt not looked very yellow in the cheeks, with every instant 
an irresistible drawing down of the mouth, and that worst of signs, 
a most unyoungster-like disinclination to eat. 

“ Mr. Futlock took the glass, and with his lack-luster eyes had a 
long look at the cutter, which was bobbing away into the seas, 
while she kept her course on a wind as if in no manner of a hurry. 

She is honest, I believe,’ he observed, with a wise nod". 
“ Probably a Poole or Exmouth trader; but we must overhaul her 
notwithstanding. Shake a reef out of the mainsail, my lads.’ 

“ This was quickly done, and the sail hoisted up. ‘ Now, keep 
her away a couple of points more, and we shall about fetch her. ’ 

“ Our mate’s orders being executed away we went tearing through 
the foaming, hissing . water, now looking, in the morning’s pale 
light, of a dark, melancholy hue. The stranger continued on as 
steady as before. . 

Oh, there’s no use in the world giving ourselves the trouble of 
boarding her,’ muttered Mr. Futlock; and he was just going to order 
the cutter to be kept on awind, when we saw the stranger haul up 
his foresail, and let fly his jib sheets, evidently intending to wait 
our coming. 

“ 4 What cutter is that?’ shouted old Futlock. 

4 4 4 The 44 Polly ” of London, bound for Weymouth,’ answered 
the man, who stood at the taffrail, through a speaking trumpet. 

4 We hove to, sir, that we might tell you we have just run over a 
large number of tubs away there to the southward. ’ 

4 4 4 Thank you, thank you,’ shouted Mr. Futlock in return, as we 
ran by and were soon out of speaking distance. 4 1 knew that fel- 
low was honest,’ he observed to me, rubbing his hands at the 
thought of making some prize-money. 4 Come, rouse aft the main- 
sheet. We must haul up a little again. Can any one see the tubs?’ 

44 There were plenty of busy eyes looking out for the prize, and 
it was not long before we discovered them on the weather bow. 
By keeping our luff we were quickly up to them. 

“ The commander was by this time called, and now came a diffi- 
culty. With the heavy sea there was running, it was a work not 
free from danger to lower a boat. We first shortened sail; the helm 
was put down, and the cutter hove to, and then, after several at- 
tempts by waiting for a lull, we got the boat with a crew safe in 
water. 

44 Mr. Futlock jumped into the boat, and pulled toward the tubs 
which were first seen, we meantime keeping a bright lookout for 
any more which might be floating near. 


154 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


“Not being accustomed to this sort of work, I felt not a little 
alarmed for the safety of my shipmates, as I saw the boat tumbling 
about among the white-crested waves. 

“ Mr. Futlock soon got hold of ten tubs, lashed together, and 
hauled them into the boat. A little further on he made a prize of 
ten more. This was no bad beginning. He was returning with 
them, having in vain searched for others, when we made out an- 
other collection just ahead of the cutter. We soon had them all 
aboard, though the boat was nearly swamped alongside. We hoisted 
her in at last, and seeing no more tubs, let draw the foresail, and 
again stood on. When at last we looked about for our communi- 
cative friend, he was not visible; but some of the men said they 
thought they had seen him standing in for the land. 

“ We cruised about all the morning in the neighborhood, but not a 
tub more could we discover. Three days after that we dropped 
our anchor in Weymouth Roads. The commander went on shore 
to communicate with the officer of the coast-guard on the station. 

“ ‘ We were looking out for a cutter with a large cargo the other 
day, but somehow or other we managed to miss her, and she man- 
aged to land every tub. We understand that there has not been 
such a run for years, ’ observed the coast-guard officer. 

“ Something made our commander fancy that she might have 
been the very craft we spoke, and which had been so ready with in- 
formation. 

“ ‘ A cutter of about fifty tons, with her bulwarks painted yellow 
inside?’ he asked. 

“ ‘ The very same,’ answered the lieutenant. ‘ That cunning ras- 
cal, Dick Johnstone, was on board of her himself. Hearing that 
we were on the lookout for his craft, the “Seagull,” he shifted 
his cargo into her. ' 

“ ‘ Then we were cleverly done!’ exclaimed our commander, 
stamping his foot with vexation. ‘ The very fellow old Futlock 
thought looked so honest that he would not take the trouble to board 
him. It is the very last time in my life that I will trust to outside 
appearances. ’ 

“ All hands of us aboard the cutter felt very foolish when we 
found that we had lost so good a chance of taking one of the richest 
prizes we were ever likely to fall in with. However, revenue 
officers must have all their seven senses wide awake to compass the 
artful dodges of determined smugglers. After that, we took very 
good care to be smart about boarding every vessel we fell in with.” 

After the conclusion of this yarn we had several other accounts 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


155 


of smugglers and their daiing deeds. Some even, it was asserted, 
had ventured to defend themselves against king’s ships, and had 
fought severe actions, one or two having gone down with Iheir colors 
flying rather than surrender. On one point all were agreed, that no 
smugglers had ever become permanently wealthy men. As my uncle 
observed, they take a great deal of trouble and undergo great risk to 
obtain a very uncertain advantage. 

All the rest of the guests were gone; old Jerry remained behind. 
We told him what had occurred in the morning, and I asked him if 
he could find out anything about Charley Iffley; what was his rank, 
and to what ship he belonged. I begged him, if he could find him, 
to take a message to him from me, and to assure him that far from 
bearing him any ill-will, I would gladly welcome him as an old 
friend. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Old Jerry’s report of Iffley— Fears of the press-gang— Resolve to go inland— 
Commence our journey— Seized by men-of- war’s men— Iffley ’s treachery— 
Find myself aboard a man-of-war bound for India— Iffley 's conduct— A gale 
— Fall overboard— Saved— Punishment aboard— Accused of stealing— Sen- 
tenced to be flogged — Iffley’s triumph. 

Several days passed by, and I heard nothing of Iffley. The fears 
of my dear wife in consequence at length subsided, and she began 
to see that, after all, she had probably thought worse of my old 
shipmate than he deserved. We agreed that he must have been 
somewhat astonished at seeing me alive, and the husband of one 
whom he had hoped to marry himself, and that chiefly through 
bashfulness he had not been abb to bring himself to come up and 
address us. 

“Bashfulness!” said Aunt Bretta, when she heard this remark; 
“ I can not say that I should ever have given Charles Iffley the 
credit for a superabundance of that quality. However, strange 
things happen. He may have picked it up at sea, or among his as- 
sociates on shore; but I doubt it.” 

So did I, on reflection. Still, I was glad by any means to calm 
my wife’s apprehensions, which were the more painful because they 
were so very indefinite. In the evening there was a knock at the 
door, and old Jerry Vincent walked in. 

“Sarvant, ladies; sarvant all,” said he, pulling off his hat to 
Aunt Bretta and my wife, who handed him a chair. 

“ Have you heard anything of that young man we told you of?” 


156 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


asked my wife. It was evidently the question slie was most anxious 
to put. 

“ Yes, I have, marm, and not much good either,” was the answer. 
‘‘I’ve found out that he is aboard the ‘ Royal William;’ she’s the 
flag- ship just now at Spithead. He doesn’t often come ashore, and 
that made me so long hearing of him.” 

“ What is he on board? Is he an officer?” asked Aunt Bretta. 

“ An officer, indeed, whew!” exclaimed Jerry. “Well, he is a 
sort of one, may be. Not a very high rating, though. He’s neither 
more nor less than a boatswain’s mate. What do you think of that, 
marm?” 

“Charles Iffley a boatswain’s mate!” said my wife in a tone of 
pity. “ I thought he was an officer long ago.” 

“Well, marm, 1 made inquiries on board, and among several 
people who knew him on shore, and from what I could learn, he 
would have been an officer long ago if he had conducted himself 
well. He was placed on the quarter-deck, for you see he has plenty 
of education, and knows how to act the gentleman as well as any 
man. But there are some men who never get up the tree but what 
they slip down again, and never can keep a straight course long to- 
gether. Charles Iffley is of* that sort. For something or other he 
did, he got disrated and dismissed the service: but he entered it 
again, and, from what 1 am told, I shouldn’t be surprised but what, 
if his early history isn’t known, he’ll work his way up again. The 
thing that is most against him is his extravagance. Every farthing 
he makes in prize-money or pay he spends on shore, in acting the 
fine gentleman. People can’t, indeed, tell how he gets all the 
money he spends. Of course, if it was known on board the pranks 
he plays on shore, his leave would be stopped; but he is so clever 
that he humbugs the officers, and they think him one of the most 
steady and best men. You see, there’s another thing which brings 
him into favor with the captain and first lieutenant; he has a knack 
of finding men and getting them to join the ship, by making her out 
to be the most comfortable ship in the service, and there’s no man 
knows better how to ferret out seamen, and to lead a press-gang 
down upon a score of them together. I learned all these things from 
different people, do ye see, but putting this and that together, I made 
out my story as I tell it to you. To my mind, Charles Iffley is a 
man I would stand clear of. Depend on’t, he’s a deep one.” 

Jerry Vincent stayed with us some time, and then he said he had 
an engagement and must go away. As he did so he beckoned me 
out of the room, and I accompanied him to the door. 


WILE weathekhelm. 


157 


“ I’ll tell you what it is, Mr, Weatlierhelm, ’ ’ said he, “ you have 
been bred a seaman, and the press-gangs are very hot at work just 
now. They take everybody who has been at sea, no matter what 
his present calling — whether he has a wife and family depending on 
him or not. Now lffley knows that you have no protection, and he 
has the power of getting hold of you. From what I hear, he’s just 
the man to use it. If you was his bosom friend, he’d do it; but if 
he owes you a grudge, depend on it he’ll not let you slip out of his 
grip. He’d have been down on you before now, but he got a broken 
head the other night, in attacking the crew of a merchantman just 
come home from a three years’ cruise round the Horn, and had no 
fancy to be sent off to sea again when they had only just put their 
foot on shore. However, he is now on his legs again. If you stay 
here, you’ll hear something of him before long; but take my advice, 
just rig out as an old farmer, or a black-coated preacher, or some- 
thing as unlike yourself as you can, and take your wife and go and 
live away somewhere up in the country. It’s your only chance. 
If you stay you’ll be nabbed, as sure as my name is Jerry Vincent.” 

I thanked the old man very much for his advice, and replied that 
I had no doubt, on consideration, I should follow it. 

“Oh, there’s a good lad! Don’t be waiting and considering. 
There’s no good comes of that. When a thing is to be done which 
must be done, go and do it at once.” 

“ Well, I will, Jerry, I will,” I answered, shaking him by the 
hand. I waited at the door, and while I watched him down the 
street I considered what course I would pursue. I was unwilling 
to tell my wife what he had said, because I knew it would agitate 
her very much, and I hoped that Jerry thought w r orse of lffley than 
he deserved. Of course, however, I determined to consult Uncle 
Kelson, and to abide by his advice. It was a serious consideration 
whether I would, on the mere chance of Iffley’s being able to get 
hold of me, give up my occupation, in wiiich I w r as succeeding so 
well, and go and live, for I knew hot how long, in comparative 
poverty, without anything to do. I made an excuse for stepping out 
of the room to talk to Jerry, and my w T ife did not appear to suspect 
that he had had anything more to say about lffley. As soon as she 
and my aunt had gone upstairs, I told Uncle Kelson all that I had 
learned. He looked graver than usual while he listened to the 
account. 

“ Well, he must be a scoundrel if he could do it!” he exclaimed at 
last, clinching his fist. “ Still, such things have been done, but I 
did hope that no seaman would be guilty of them.” He was sileu 


158 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


for some time, and lost in reflection. “ I’ll tell you what, Will,” 
said he at last, “ you must follow old Jerry’s advice. It’s sound, 
depend on it. That old man has more wisdom in his little finger 
than many a man has in the whole of his head. Go to your work 
to morrow morning, and I’ll look down in tne course of lie day and 
see your employer, and explain matters to him frankly. He, I have 
no doubt, will give you leave of absence for a few weeks, and when 
you come back you can work double tides. If you stay, you see, 
you’ll be lost to him probably altogether.” 

So the matter was arranged. I was rather ashamed, however, at 
the thought of having to go into hiding, as it were; but still I felt 
that my wife’s mind would be relieved from apprehension when 
once I was safe away out of Portsmouth. Uncle Kelson had a sister 
married to a farmer living in the north of Hampshire, and there we 
resolved to go. 

The next day I went to my work as usual, and my uncle came 
down and had a talk with my employer, and the whole matter was 
arranged to the satisfaction of all parties. 

“ Come,” said Uncle Kelson, “ you had better at once take your 
places by the coach, and start to-morrow. There is no time to be 
lost.” 

We found on getting to the coach- office that all the coaches were 
full.' At that time there was an immense traffic between Ports- 
mouth and London. A post-chaise was somewhat beyond our means, 
but we found a light wagon starting, which took passengers, and 
Uncle Kelson and I agreed that this would prove a convenient and 
very pleasant conveyance, as we were in no hurry, and would not 
object to being some time on the road. It was to start pretty early 
in the morning. My dear wife was delighted at the thoughts of the 
journey, and speedily made the necessary preparations. We sent 
on our trunk by a wheelbarrow, while we followed, accompanied 
by Uncle Kelson. Even at that early hour the High Street was 
astir— indeed, in those busy' times, both during day and night, 
something or other was going forward. We passed several gangs 
of men-of-war’s men. Three or four men evidently just pressed, 
and who showed a strong disinclination to go and serve their coun- 
try, were being dragged along by one of the gangs. I could not 
help pitying the poor fellows; so did my wife. 

“ Oh, Willand,” said she, “ how thankful I am that you are not 
among them!” 

Our wagon was a very nice one, covered over with a clean white 
tilt, and our wagoner, I saw at a glance, was an honest, good-hearted 


WILL WEATIIERHELM. 


159 


chaw-bacon. He was dressed in the long white frock, thickly- 
plaited in front, which has been worn from time immemorial by- 
people of his calling. Our trunk and bags were put in; we shook 
hands with Uncle Kelson, and having taken our seats just inside in 
the front part, with plenty of straw for our feet to rest on, the 
wagoner whipped up his four sturdy horses, and we began to move 
on. My dear wife pressed closer to my side, and we began to 
breathe more freely; she thought I was safe from the press-gang. We 
were just clear of the fortifications, and were getting into the open 
country, when I saw the wagoner turn round once or twice, and look 
over his shoulder behind him. 

“What can they be after?’' I heard him say. A minute more 
passed. “ Hillo, men, what does ye want here?” he exclaimed sud- 
denly, as half a dozen or more seamen sprung forward, and seized 
the horses’ heads, while others leaped up into the wagon. 

“We are looking for a deserter,” cried two or three of them. 
“ Turn out, my hearty; where are you stowed away?” 

I felt, the instant the seamen appeared, that they had come to 
press me, but these words revived my hopes of escape. 

“ There is no one here, my men, besides my wife and me that I 
know of,” I observed. “ You have made a mistake, I suspect.” 

“Well, we must look,” said the men; “ we are not quite so green 
as to take your word for it.” 

“You may look as much as you like, measters, ” said the wag- 
oner; “ you’ll find no one among my goods, unless he’s stowed hes- 
self away unknowest to me.” 

The seamen began to poke their cutlasses in between the pack- 
ages, and would undoubtedly have run any r one through who had 
been inside them. While they were thus employed, three or four 
other men came up. 

“ What are you about, mates?” exclaimed one of them, whose 
voice I felt sure I knew. “ The man you want is sitting in the front 
of the wagon!” 

On hearing these words my poor wife uttered a piercing shriek, 
and fell fainting into my arms. She, too, had recognized the voice, 
though the speaker had kept out of her sight; it was that of Charles 
Iffley. The seamen instantly sprung on me, and seized me by the 
arms. 

“ Hillo, mate, you were going to give us the go-by,” said one of 
them as they passed a rope round my elbows before I could lift an 
arm in my defense. 

They literally dragged me from my poor wife. She w^uld have 


100 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


fallen, but the wagoner humanely scrambled up into his wagon, 
and placed her securely at the bottom of it. She was'still, I saw, 
completely insensible. I scarcely regretted that she was so, for I 
did not at the moment foresee the consequences. The honest carter 
was in vain expostulating with the seamen for seizing one whom he 
considered placed under his especial charge, to be delivered safe at 
the journey’s end. 

“ I don’t think as how you have any right to take that gentleman; 
he’s no more a sailor nor I bes,” I heard him say. 

“ Not a sailor! Why, the man has been at sea all his life till the 
last year or so,” said Iffley, now coming up, and throwing off all 
disguise, “ he's moreover, to my certain knowledge, a deserter from 
his majesty’s ship ‘ Brilliant,’ so attempt to detain him if you dare.” 

These words had a great effect on the honest wagoner, who did 
not attempt to make any further efforts to detain me. 

Generally speaking, the most ruffian-like and least scrupulous of 
the crew were employed in the press-gangs, for they often had very 
brutal work to perform. The men into whose hands I had fallen 
were as bad as any I had ever met. They seized me with the great- 
est ferocity, dragged me out of the wagon, and would not listen to 
my prayers and entreaties to be allowed to wait till my wife came to 
her senses; and before even I had time to speak to the wagoner, 
in spite of all the violent struggles I made to free myself, they 
hauled me off along the road as if I had been one of the worst of 
malefactors. In this they were encouraged by Iffley, who seemed to 
take a malignant pleasure in seeing me ill-treated, though he did 
not himself attempt to lay hands on me. When I tried to cry out I 
found a gag thrust into my mouth, and thus I was rendered speech- 
less as well as in every other way powerless. 

My captors hurried me away, and with a feeling amounting to 
agony, I lost sight of the wagon. At first it occurred to me that 
Iffley had gone back for the purpose, as 1 dreaded, of speaking to 
my wife, and perhaps adding to her misery; but had he entertained 
such a thought he had not dared to face her, for I saw him directly 
afterward following close behind me, encouraging the other men to 
hasten along. 

Though I made all the resistance of which I was capable, in the 
hopes that something or other might occur to enable me to free my- 
self, we soon reached the entrance to Portsmouth. 

Instead, however, of proceeding down the High Street, Iffley led 
the way down one of the by-streets to the right. Just as we were 
passing under the ramparts I looked up, and there I saw walking 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


161 


up and down, as if to enjoy the breeze, a person whom I recognized 
at a glance as Uncle Kelson. The moment I saw him hope revived 
in my breast. ] could at all events tell him to go in search of my 
wife. Perhaps he might even find means to liberate me; but when 
I tried to sing out the horrible gag prevented me speaking. I could 
only utter inarticulate cries and groans. 

In vain I shrieked. He did not even turn his head; the sounds 
were too common. He thought, probably, that it was only some 
drunken seaman, who had outstayed his leave, dragged back to his 
ship. 

At length, for a moment, he looked round. I struggled more 
vehemently than before. I fancied that he must recognize me, but, 
urged by Iflley, my captors dragged me on faster than ever, and 
turning a corner we were hid from his sight. My strength was 
now almost exhausted. I could offer but a faint resistance. Hope, 
too, had abandoned me. Still I tried to make myself heard, on the 
possibility of some one knowing me and undertaking to carry a 
message to my uncle and aunt. People stopped and looked, but 
the same idea occurred to all — my frantic gestures made them be- 
lieve that 1 was a miserable drunken sailor. 

We reached the water’s edge. I was shoved into a boat with 
several other men who had been captured during the night. They 
all were sitting stunned, or drunken, or sulky (or some too probably 
broken-hearted and miserable), at the bottom of the boat, not ex- 
changing a word with each other or with those who had pressed us. 
I also fell down stunned and unconscious. Who could have dis- 
covered any difference between me and my companions in mis- 
fortune? When I again opened my eyes, I found that the boat was 
almost at Spithead. I tried to sit up to look about me, but I could 
not, and, after a feeble attempt to rise, I again sunk back, and once 
more oblivion of all that had passed stole over my senses. I had a 
sort of dreamy feeling that I was lifted up on the deck of a big 
ship, and then handed below and put into a hammock. Then I was 
aware that some one came and felt my pulse and gave me medicine, 
but I had no power to think, to recollect the past or to note the 
present. 

At last, by degrees, I found that I was becoming more alive to 
what was taking place. I felt the movement of the ship. She was 
heeling over to a strong breeze. Then suddenly the recollection of 
my wife, of the way I had been torn from her, of the wretchedness 
I knew she must suffer, of the uncertainty she must feel for my 
fate, burst like a thunder-clap on me, and almost sent me back into 


162 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


the state from which I was recovering. I groaned in my agony. I 
wished that death might kindly he sent to relieve me of my misery. 
But the instant after 1 felt that such a wish was impious. 

I lay quiet for some time, thinking and praying that strength might 
be given for my support. No, no, I’ll try 1o live, that I may get back 
to comfort her. What joy it would be once more to return to her! 
The very contemplation of such an idea revived me. “ Whatever 
comes I’ll do my duty like a man.” 

“ That’s right, my lad; that’s the proper spirit in which to take 
our misfortunes, ’ ’ said a voice near me. 

Unconsciously, I had spoken aloud. I turned round my head, 
and saw a gentleman I knew at once was the doctor of the ship. 

“ I know your story. You have told me a good deal about your- 
self while you have been lying there,” he remarked, in a kind 
voice. “I pity you from my heart, and will do what I can for 
you.” 

“ Thank you, sir, thank you,” 1 answered, warmly, and almost 
melting into tears, for I was very weak. “ Where are we? Where 
are we going? What ship is this? Is Iffley here?” 

“ One question at a time, my lad, and you will have a better 
chance of an answer, as a general rule,” he answered, smiling. 

He was a Scotchman, and as warm-hearted, generous a man as the 
north ever produced, though somewhat peculiar in his manners. 
To a stranger he appeared slow; but, when time would allow it, he 
knew the advantage of deliberation. 

“ First, then, I will tell you that you are on board the ‘ Albion,’ 
and that we have under our convoy a large fleet of merchantmen. 
We are somewhere to the southward of Cape Finisterre. What 
you are thinking about is, how you can write home to let your wife 
know what has become of you. You’ll very likely soon have an 
opportunity. Let that comfort you.” He said all this that he 
might break more gradually all that was coming. 

“ But where are we going, sir?” I asked, in a trembling voice. 

‘‘You may perhaps have an opportunity of getting home,” he 
answered. “ But you see, my lad, we are bound for the East 
Indies, and shall probably have a somewhat long cruise of it.” 

“ To the East Indies!” I cried, my voice sinking almost to a 
whisper. “ When, when, Margaret, may I ever meet you again?” 

“ Cheer up, my lad, it’s a long road which has no turning, ye 
ken,” cried the kind doctor. “ Remember your resolution to do 
your duty like a man. You’ll be well in a few days, I hope.” 

He did not reply to my question about Iffley. Somehow or other, 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


163 


I could not bring myself again to repeat that man’s name. I did 
not forget the command to forgive our enemies, but I felt that flesh 
and blood — the depravity cf human nature — must be struggled with 
and overcome, before the divine precept could be obeyed. 

Once more I was on my feet again, and a man who attended on 
the sick helped me up on deck. It was a fine day — the sky was 
blue, the sea was calm, and some thirty ships, with all their canvas 
set, were grouped close around us. They were huge lumbering 
tea-chests, as we used to call Indiamen, but they were fine looking 
craft for all that. The fresh sea-breeze revived me. Every hour I 
felt myself growing stronger and better. I looked round for lffley. 
I had a nervous dread of meeting him, and yet I felt anxious to 
ascertain that he was on board. 

A person may be on board a big ship like the “ Albion ” for 
several days without meeting another, provided they are not on 
duty together. Such was my case. I had been for two days on 
deck, an hour or so at a time, without seeing the man who had 
proved himself so bitterly my enemy. The doctor told me he 
thought that in a day or two more I might go to my duty, and 

that I should be the better for having work to do. I looked for- 

ward to work with satisfaction, and begged that I might as soon as 
possible be struck off the sick-list. He told me that I should be so 
on the following day, and that lie would speak to the first lieutenant 
about me, as he was a very kind man, and would see that I was 
not sent aloft till I had sufficiently recovered my strength. I 
thanked him with a hearty blessing for his kindness and considera- 
tion. 

The very first man on whom my eyes rested when 1 went on 
deck returned fit for duty was Charles lffley. He was going along 

the deck with his cat o’-nine-tails in his hand. I knew by this that 

he still held only the rating of boatswain’s mate on board. My 
heart turned sick at the sight; in a moment my vivid imagination 
pictured all I might have to suffer at his hands. 

He saw me, but pretended not to know me, and went on his way 
as if I was a stranger. I was immediately sent for aft, and found 
that I had been entered in the ship’s books as an able seaman and a 
deserter from his majesty’s ship the “ Brilliant.” 

“ What have you to say to this, my man?” said the captain, look- 
ing sternly at me. 

“ That I am not a deserter, sir,” I answered in a firm voice; and 
I then gave him a clear and succinct account of the cutting-out 


164 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


expedition in Santa Cruz harbor, in which I had been engaged, and 
the way in which my life had been preserved on that occasion. 

The captain, after a moment’s consideration, sent a midshipman 
down into his cabin for a printed book. When it was brought to 
him he turned over the pages and asked me a few more questions. 
“ I find that your account agrees exactly with the description I here 
have of the affair, and I believe you.” 

I saw Dr. M’Call, who came up at the moment, and heard the 
captain’s words, look evidently pleased. They exchanged glances, 
I thought. At all events, I fancied that I had just and kind-hearted 
superiors, and that my condition was far better than I might have 
expected to find it. Still this reflection could not mitigate the great 
source of my grief — my sudden separation from my wife and my 
ignorance of her fate. After this I was placed in a watch, and 
went regularly about my duty. I did my best to perform it, and 
quickly recovered my strength. 

Ours had always been considered a smart ship, and though our 
captain was a kind man, he sacrificed a great deal to smartness. 
The most active and bustling men who could make the most show 
of doing things smartly, often gained more credit than they deserved. 

It was one forenoon my watch below when I heard the cry of 
“ All hands shorten sail!” I had been stationed in the fore- top. I 
sprung on deck as fast as my strength would allow, but I had not 
recovered my usual activity. “ Fly aloft, there! fly aloft, you lazy 
scoundrel, or a rope’s end will freshen your way a bit!” I heard a 
voice cry close to my ear. It was Iffley’s. His countenance showed 
that he was capable of executing his threats. My blood boiled. I 
could do nothing. I could say nothing. In a moment I under- 
stood the bitter enmity which he had allowed to enter and to rankle 
in his bosom. I scarcely dared again to look at him. I hurried on. 
A sudden squall had strucK the ship^-unexpected after the long 
calms to which we had been subject. She was heeling over to her 
lower deck ports. The exertion of all hands was indeed required 
to shorten sail. I found Iffley following close after me. I sprung 
up the rigging and quickly reached the fore-top. I could not help 
seeing his face as he came up. It wore the expression of most 
malignant hatred. “ Lay out; be smart about it, my lads!” cried 
the captain of the top, as the foretopsail-yard came rattling down. 

In an instant the yard was covered with ective forms hurrying 
out to its extreme ends. I made a spring to get out to the weather- 
earing. I had got it in my hand and was hauling on it, when I saw 
the countenance of Iffley, wearing the same expression as before, 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


165 


close to me. There was now in it a 1 riumphant expression, as if he 
hoped that his vindictive feelings were about to be gratified. Still 
not a word did he utter. No one on board would have guessed that 
we had ever before met. I still kept to my resolution. 

The gale came down on us stronger than ever. The officers were 
urging the men to greater speed. Suddenly I felt the earing in my 
hand give way, and before I could grasp at the yard to save myself 
I lost my balance, and to my horror found myself falling into the 
seething ocean raging beneath me. A strange, hideous, mocking 
strain of laughter sounded in my ears as I fell, and after that 1 
knew no more till I discovered that I was struggling in the foaming 
waters. 

I had gone down once, but had quickly come up again. I threw 
myself on my back till I had somewhat recovered my senses, and 
then turned myself round and kept treading the water while I 
looked out to see how far I was from the ship. 

Away she flew, close-hauled though, with the foam dancing 
round her, and already at some distance. “ And is this to be my 
fate?” I thought; “ to die thus a victim to the foul revenge of that 
man?” 

I resolved to struggle for my life. I looked round me on every 
side. The Indiamen were scattered far and wide, none of them 
were coming up on our track. Still I swam on, but I felt how 
hopeless was the struggle. 

Just then my eye fell on a grating, floating not five fathoms from 
me, and which had evidently been thrown to me by some one on 
board, when I was seen to fall from aloft. 1 exerted all my 
strength, and at length reached it. The time appeared to be very 
long. It is impossible, on such occasions, to measure it. Moments 
appeared minutes — minutes hours. I threw myself on the grating 
in a position to avoid being washed off it or thrown under it; but it 
required no slight exertion to hold on. As the dark seas came roll- 
ing up, and breaking, with a loud, crashing sound, above my head, 

I felt as if they must inevitably overwhelm me. Still I did not give 
up hope. 

Unhappy as I had thought myself, I desired life that I might re- 
turn home once more and ascertain the fate of my wife. I prayed 
that for this object I might be preserved; that we might once more 
be united, and once again be happy on earth. Even at that moment, 
surrounded by the boiling seas, with my ship flying fast away from 
me, I pictured, with all the vividness of reality, the unspeakable 
joy of once again being restored to her. I remembered the number- 


166 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


less dangers to which I had been exposed, and the merciful way in 
which I had been preserved from Ihem. 

Not for an instant did I think of Iffley. I forgot that he had been 
the cause of my present position, and thus I was prevented from 
harboring any feeling of revenge against him. 

As I was saying, I could not judge how long I was clinging to 
the grating. Tossed about as I was — now lifted to the summit of a 
foaming sea — now sinking down into the trough — I kept my eye 
constantly turning toward my ship. 

Suddenly I saw the foretopsail thrown aback— a boat was lowered 
— my shipmates were coming to my rescue. I felt e ren then that I was 
to be saved. I forgot the distance they had to pull and the heavy 
sea which might both endanger them and hide me from their sight. 
Still mDre eagerly did I try to make out the boat, as she labored 
among the foaming seas. I caught a glimpse of her as I rose to ihe 
top of the wave, but she was not pulling toward me. Those in her 
could not have seen me. 

Then suddenly the horrid thought came across me, that Iffley 
might have pretended to have seen where I was and to have guided 
the boat wrongly. Then I blamed myself for thinking even Iffley 
capable of an act so atrocious. Still, I thought if he had purposely 
thrown me into the sea, he would be as likely to play tne foul trick 
of which I now suspected him. 

Again I sunk down into a deep trough of the sea, and could only 
for a time distinguish the topsails of the ship above the masses of 
foam which flew around. When I next rose again there was the 
boat pulling away from me. 

I shrieked out, I raised my voice louder and louder, as if I could 
by possibility be heard. I might as well have tried to howl down 
the hurricane in its fiercest mood. This was more trying than all 
that had gone before. 

At length, exhausted by my exertions, I threw myself back on 
the grating, scarcely attempting to hold on. I was then in the 
trough of a sea. In another moment I was raised again to the 
summit of a sea, and, though hopeless, my eyes mechanically turned 
toward the boat. 

Some one on board had seen me — she was pulling toward me. I 
felt conscious in a moment how wrong I had been to despair. I 
again exerted all my strength to keep myself on the grating. I saw 
some one standing up in the bows looking out for me. He pointed 
to where I floated, that the helmsman might steer the boat aright. 

“Hurra! hurra!” A shout reached my ears. I knew that my 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


167 


shipmates had given it to encourage me. A few minutes more and 
I found myself hauled into the boat. 

The first person on whom my eyes rested was Iffiey. He looked, 
I fancied, conscience-struck and defeated. 

Charley said as how he thought he saw you away to the east- 
ward there; but Tom Potts caught sight of you, and now we know 
he was right,” said one of the men who were hauling me in. 

I was placed in the bottom of the boat, for there was little time in 
that heavy sea to attend to me, and she pulled back toward the ship. 
I felt that I was saved. I did not expect to be much the worse for 
my ducking, and I knew when I got back to the ship that the doctor 
would look after me. I had now no doubt that Iffley had en- 
deavored to prevent the boat from coming to my assistance. How 
bitter must be his hatred to allow me — his shipmate — to die thus 
horribly, struggling in the sea, when he had the power to save me! 

As I was helped up the side I caught his eye fixed on me, and 
again I observed that evident look of baffled vengeance which I had 
before remarked. I felt sure that he would take the first opportu- 
nity of giving further proof of his hatred of me. 1 did not see any 
means of escaping from it. Had he. even spoken to. me I might 
have expostulated with him; but he kept aloof as if I were a total 
stranger to him. He carefully avoided even addressing me directly. 
Lfelt sure, indeed, that had I spoken to him, he would have stoutly 
denied all former knowledge of me, and who was to prove it ? Ho 
one whom I knew on board. I felt as if I were pursued by some 
monster with supernatural powers, from whom I could not get free. 

When I got on board Dr. M’Call kindly ordered me to go to my 
hammock, and he came and gave me some medicine. He said that 
after the illness from which I had so long been suffering the con- 
sequences might be serious if I caught cold from my ducking. 
However, I turned out the next morning not in the slightest degree 
the worse for what had occurred. I resolved to be as altentive and 
exact in my duty as possible; I wished to behave thus, at all events; 
but I also knew that in that case I should give my enemy less op- 
portunity of injuring me. 

Two days after this a man was convicted of stealing on board. 
He was sentenced to receive fifty lashes. Iffley was one of the 
boatswain’s mates chosen to inflict the punishment. The crew were 
mustered on deck, and the man was led forward. He was one of 
those wretched men who are both rogues and cowards. 

Iffley and the other boatswain’s mates stood with their cats, those 
dreadful instruments of power, in their hands ready for use. While 


168 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


preparations were being made the miserable wretch looked round on 
every side, as if seeking for some one who could save him from the 
punishment he was about to receive. Not a glance of pity did he 
get from his messmates. They knew him too well. At last he 
looked toward Iffley. I saw them exchange glances. Itlley, of 
course, did not speak; but his looks said something which gave the 
other courage. 

“ Captain,” said the man, turning round to our captain, “you 
are going to make the innocent suffer for the guilty. I wanted to 
shield a shipmate; but he will be found out at last, I know, and I 
shall only suffer without doing any one any good, otherwise I could 
have borne the punishment willingly. ’ ’ 

I at the time thought that the man spoke in that whining tone 
which a person in spite of himself uses when he is uttering a false- 
hood, or saying what has been put into his mouth by another. 

“Cast him loose,” said the captain; “I’ll inquire into this. 
Bring him aft here. Now tell me at once who is the man who has 
committed this theft, if you are not guilty of it.” 

“I’d rather not say, sir,” replied the culprit. “ I don’t like to 
peach on another. He’ll be found out before the day is over, and 
then I sha’n’t be accused of having told on him.” 

“ That excuse will not serve your turn, my man,” answered the 
captain, sternly. “ Unless you can point out the real culprit, you 
will have to suffer the punishment awarded you.” 

“ Oh, no, sir, I’d rather not. Do not be hard on me. I don’t 
like to hurt another man, even to save myself,” again whined out 
the man. “ Let me off, sir, let me off, and the real thief will be 
found — that he will; you have my word for it.” 

“ Trice him up again,” said the captain to the boatswain. “ The 
true thief is about to be punished, I am very certain of that.” 

“ I’ll tell, sir, I’ll tell!” shrieked out the wretched man. “ He’s 
one who has been skulking his duty ever since he came on board. 
I’d rather not speak his name. ” 

The captain shook his head, and made a sign to the boatswain to 
proceed, 

“Well, if I must tell,” cried out the man, Saul Ley by name, 
“ the thief is Will Weatherhelm.” 

I almost fainted when I heard the accusation, and I am sure that 
I must have looked as guilty as if I had committed the theft. 

A triumphant smile flitted across Iffley’s features, and he passed 
the knotted tails of his cat, as if mechanically, through his fingers, 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 169 

while he cast a glance at me which I too well understood. The 
captain turned toward me. 

“What is this I hear?” he asked. “ Do you acknowledge the 
theft, Weatherhelm?” 

“ No, sir; certainly not,” I answered, with as firm a voice as I 
could command, though I felt conscious that it was faltering as I 
spoke. 

“ What proof have you that Weatherhelm committed the theft?” 
asked the captain of the culprit. 

“ Because two men, if not more, watched him, and knew that it 
was him,” was the answer; and now the man spoke in a firmer 
voice than I had done, and I fancied looked more innocent. 

“ Produce your witnesses,” said the captain. 

The man hesitated for a minute, and his eye ranged with an un- 
easy glance along the lines of men drawn up on deck, as if anxious- 
ly scanning their countenances, for he must have felt that they 
knew him, and that he was not generally believed. At last his eyes 
rested on two who were standing together. 

“ Bill Sykes and Dick Todd saw him, sir; they know all about it. 
They’ll tell you; they’ll prove I am innocent.” 

The theft had been committed on the purser’s stores. Some to- 
bacco and sugar and some other things had been stolen. Now Saul 
Ley, the accused, had been seen coming out of the store-room on one 
occasion when the purser’s clerk had left the keys in the door for a 
short time and gone away. The purser, on his return, had missed 
some tobacco and sugar, and that same evening a small quantity of 
both those articles had been found in Ley’s possession. 

“ Stand out, Bill Sykes and Dick Todd, and let me hear what 
you know about this matter.” 

Bill Sykes was a landsman, and had soon shown that he was to- 
tally unfit for a sailor. Dick Todd had entered as a boy. He was 
not worth much, and had become a great chum of Sykes’s. Still, 
from the little I had seen of them, I did not think that they would 
have been guilty of falsely accusing a shipmate. I had therefore 
little fear of what they could say against me. 

I was, however, somewhat startled when they stepped forward, 
and Sykes, us the eldest, began in a clear way to state that he had 
seen a man, whom he took to be me, open the door of the purser’s 
room with a key, and, after being absent for a minute or more, re- 
turn and lock it. He at once knew this was wrong, so he watched 
what the man he took to be the thief would next do. He said that 
he met with Todd, and told him as a friend what he had observed. 


170 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


The thief crept along the deck, and the two then saw him go to his 
bag and deposit something which he took out of his pockets. Both 
the men acknowledged that they might be mistaken, but that they 
thought that it was me. 

“What have you got to say to this, Weatherhelm?” asked the 
captain. “You are accused by the mouths of two witnesses.” 

“ The accusation is false, sir,” I answered, calmly. “ I was not 
long ago at my bag, and I observed neither tobacco nor sugar in it. 
If you will send for it you will find that I speak the truth.” 

“ Very well. Mr. Marvel, take a couple of bands with you, and 
bring up Weatherhelm’s bag,” said the captain, addressing the 
mate of the lower deck. 

I felt very little anxiety during the time the officer was absent, 
for I was sure that nothing would be found among my things. He 
soon returned, bringing the bag. It was placed before the captain. 

‘ 4 Open it, ’ ’ said he. It was opened on deck in sight of all the 
officers and ship’s company. What was my horror and dismay to 
see drawn forth, wrapped up in a shirt, a large lump of tobacco and 
a paper containing several pounds of sugar! “ Now, what have you 
got to say?” asked the captain, turning to me. 

“ That I have not the slightest notion how those things came into 
my bag, ’ ’ was my prompt answer. 

“ That is the sort of reply people always give when they are 
found out,” said the captain. “ It will not serve your turn, I fear.” 

“ I can not help it, sir,” I replied, with a feeling of desperation. 
“ Appearances are certainly against me, sir; I know not by whom 
those things were put into my bag. I did not put them in, and I 
did not know that they were there.” 

“You said that another man was a witness of this affair,” said 
the captain, turning to Ley. “ Who is he?” 

Ley began to hum and haw and look uncomfortable. “I’d rather 
not say, sir,” whined out Ley, “ if it is not necessary.” 

“ But it is necessary,” thundered out the captain, evidently an- 
noyed at the man’s coolness and canting hypocrisy. “ Who is he? 
or you get the four dozen awarded you.” 

I had watched all along the countenance of Iffley. I felt sure 
that a plot had been formed against me, and that he was its framer 
and instigator. I saw that he began to grow uneasy at this stage of 
the proceedings. 

“ Who is this other man?” repeated the captain. 

Ley saw that he must speak out, or that he would still get the 
punishment he was so anxious to escape. “ There he is; Charles 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


171 


Iffley is the man, sir, who, besides those two, saw Weatherhelm go 
to his bag and put the stolen things into it. ’ ’ 

“ How is this, Iffley? If you saw a man committing a robbery it 
was your duty to give notice of it, sir,” exclaimed the captain, in 
an angry voice, turning toward him. 

“Iam very sorry, sir,” replied Iffley. “I am aware of what I 
ought, strictly speaking, to have done, but I did not like to hurt the 
character of a shipmate. He always seemed a very respectable 
man, and I fully believed that I must have been mistaken. It is 
only now that the things are found in his bag that I can believe him 
guilty.” 

“ You are ready to swear to this?” asked the captain. 

“Quiet ready, sir, certainly,” replied Iffley, calmly. “I add 
nothing and withhold nothing on the subject. ’ 9 

Even I was startled by what Iffley said, and the way he said it. 
I could not help supposing that he believed what he said. 

“ Have you anything more to say in your defense, "Weather- 
helm?” said the captain. 

“ Nothing, sir, except that those men are mistaken. I can only 
hope that they believe what they say,” I answered, with a firmer 
voice than I had before been able to command. 

“Iam very sorry for it, and do not just now altogether believe 
it,” I heard Dr. M’Call observe as he walked off. 

“ You will expect your punishment — six dozen,” said the captain. 
“Pipe down.” 

Could a painter at that moment have observed Iffley’s counte- 
nance, it might have served him as a likeness of Satan when he is 
assured that Eve has fallen. The officers walked aft, the crew dis- 
persed, and I was placed under charge of the master-at-arms. 

Two days passed by. How full of agony and wretchedness they 
were! The pain I was to expect was as nothing compared to the 
disgrace and degradation. I who had always borne an unsullied 
name, whose character had always stood high both with my officers 
and messmates, to be now branded as a thief! How could I ever 
face those I loved, conscious of the marks of the foul lash on my 
back? There was no one on board to speak in my favor; no one 
who had known me before — and how incapable I was of the act im- 
puted to me— except Iffley; and he, I felt too well assured, would 
do his utmost to destroy me. 

The two days passed — no circumstances occurred, as I had hoped 
it might, to prove that I was innocent — when the boatswain’s call 


172 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


summoned all bands on deck to witness punishment. This time I 
was to he the victim. 

The boatswain’s males stood ready. One of them was Iffiey. He 
played eagerly with his cat as I was led forward. “If come it 
must,” I ejaculated, “ the Lord have mercy on me — I will bear my 
punishment as a man.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

Punishment interrupted— Preparations for action— Beat off the enemy— A con- 
fession— I am proved to be innocent— Capture two prizes— Ordered home in 

one of them— Deserted by our consort— Spring a leak— Mutiny of prisoners. 

“ Strip!” said the captain. 

I prepared to lay my shoulders bare to receive the lash. 

“ The Indiamen to windward are signaling to us, sir,” shouted 
the signal midshipman, turning over the pages of the signal-book. 
“ An enemy in sight on the weather-beam.” 

“ Master-at-arms, take charge of the prisoner; punishment is de- 
ferred,” cried the captain, springing on to the poop. 

I was led below. I almost wished that the punishment was over. 
I had nerved myself up to bear it, dreadful as it was, without 
flinching. Now I knew not for how long it might be postponed, but 
I had no hopes of escaping it altogether. 

In another minute the stirring cry of “ Prepare ship for action!” 
was passed along the decks. Every one in a moment was full of 
activity. The cabin bulkheads were knocked away, fire-screens 
were put up, the doors of the magazine were thrown open, and 
powder and shot were being handed up on deck. 

For some time I was left alone, with a sentry only stationed over 
me. I longed to be set free. I trusted that I was not to remain a 
prisoner during the action which it was expected was about to take 
place. I thought that if I could but send a message to the captain, 
and entreat that I might be allowed to do my duty at my gun, he 
would liberate me while the action lasted. 

For a long time not an officer came near me. At length, to my 
great satisfaction, I saw Dr. M’Call. He was on his way to see 
that all proper preparations had been made in the space devoted to 
his service on the orlop deck for the reception of the wounded. 

“ Dr. M’Call,” I cried out to him. “ I would not have ventured 
to have spoken to you, situated as I now am, under any other cir- 
cumstances, but I have a great favor to ask of you, sir.” 


>. WILL WEATHERHELM. 


173 


fie stopped and listened. 

‘ ‘ I need not say that 1 trust you do not believe me guilty, and I 
would entreat you to go to the captain and to ask him to allow me 
to return to my duty during the action. Tell him only what you 
think of me, and he will, I am sure, give me my freedom till the 
fight is over. I do not wish to avoid punishment, but it would be 
a double one to remain manacled here while my shipmates are fight- 
ing the enemy.” 

“ I’ll go,” said the doctor, who had quietly listened to all I had 
said. “ I do not believe you guilty. There is little time to lose, 
though.” 

How anxiously I awaited the result of my petition! Every mo- 
ment I expected to hear the first shot fired, and to find that the 
action had begun. About three minutes passed. I fancied six 
times the period had elapsed, when a master’s mate and two men 
came below. 

“ The captain gives you leave, Weatherhelm, to return to your 
duty,” said the officer. “He hopes that you will show you are 
worthy of the favor. ’ ’ 

*' Indeed I will, sir,” I answered, as the men knocked the hand- 
cuffs off my wrists. 

“ We’ve a tough job in hand, depend on that.” 

“ Thank you, sir, thank you,” I exclaimed, as I sprung to my 
feet and followed my liberators to the upper deck, where the sentry 
joined his comrades. 

The moment I reached the deck I looked out for the enemy. 
Just out of gun-shot appeared a seventy-four gun-ship and two 
frigates. They were firing away at the Indiamen, which were still 
within range of their guns. The greater number were, however, 
clustering together, and standing down to leeward of us, so that 
those nearer the Frenchmen were not idle, and were bravely re- 
turning shot for shot. 

The three ships came on, the Frenchmen little doubting that we 
should continue on the same course we were then holding; but our 
captain was determined to get the weather- gauge, and just as their 
shot came aboard us, he tacked and stood to the northward, which 
brought the two frigates nearer to us than the line-of-battle ship. 
One of them bravely stood on till she got close under our guns. 
The order was given to fire. Our shot took the most deadly effect 
on her, and she completely heeled over as our whole broadside went 
crashing in through her decks and sides. Of the three hundred 
men or more, who an instant before stood up full of life and 


174 


WILL WEATHEEHELM. 


strength, full fifty must have been struck down, many never to rise 
again, while her spars and rigging went tumbling down in terrible 
confusion over her deck. 

Again we tacked, and this brought our starboard broadside to 
bear on the second frigate. While we were especially engaged with 
the first she had fired two or three broadsides at us, and as we 
tacked she managed to rake us, to our no little damage. The success 
attending our first effort inspirited us to give due effect to the 
second. Every shot we fired seemed to tell. Besides numbers of 
men killed and wounded, the foremast of the frigate came toppling 
down on her deck almost before the smoke which hung around us 
had cleared away. 

Seldom had greater execution been effected in so short a time, 
but our ship was thoroughly well manned, and every one of us had 
been well trained at our guns. We knew what we were about, and 
had strength to do it. Leaving the two frigates almost helpless, we 
stood on to meet our larger opponent. With her, to all appearance, 
we were thoroughly well matched. While we had been engaged 
with the frigates, she had severely handled some of the Indiamen. 
She had now, however, to look after herself. 

Our captain, as soon as we got clear of the frigates, signaled to 
the Indiamen to go and attack them. This he did in the hope that 
they would be prevented from repairing damages and be enabled to 
escape^ The Indiamen to leeward, in the most spirited way, in- 
stantly began to beat up toward the frigates. 

We had not escaped altogether free of harm. Though no material 
damage had been done to the ship we had already several men killed 
and wounded by the shot from our two first antagonists. As we 
closed with the line- of- battle ship she opened fire on us. We soon 
found that we had an opponent which would require all our 
strength and perseverance to overcome, but every man stood to his 
gun, as British seamen always will stand when well commanded, 
however great may be the odds against them. 

We passed each other on opposite tacks as the line-of-battle ship 
stood on toward the frigates. As our respective guns were brought 
to bear we discharged them into each other’s sides. We all cheered 
loudly and heartily as we saw the result of our fire, but the enemy 
were not idle. The shot from their broadside came crashing on 
board us with fearful effect, while the marines in the tops, poop, 
and forecastle, kept up a heavy fire of musketry. Blocks and 
spars came tumbling down from aloft; splinters were flying in 
every direction; round shot were whizzing through the ports and 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


175 


across the decks; the smoke from the guns hung over us in dense 
masses, obscuring the sky and scarcely enabling us to see from one 
side of the ship to the other. 

Many a poor fellow sunk to rise no more; numbers were sorely 
wounded; the heads of some, the arms and legs of others, were shot 
away; groans and shrieks arose from those who were struck, while 
the rest of the crew uttered shouts of defiance and anger. All of 
us were stripped to the waist, begrimed with smoke, and often 
sprinkled with our own blood or that of our comrades; our handker- 
chiefs bound round our heads, and our countenances, with the 
muscles strained to the utmost, exhibiting the fierce passions which 
animated our hearts. 

Yet, though I have attempted to describe the scene, no words can 
do adequate justice to its savage wildness. I felt, I doubt not, like 
the rest. In a moment all recollection of the past vanished; I 
thought only of punishing the foe, of gaining the victory. I saw 
others killed and wounded near me, but it never occurred to me 
that at any moment their fate might be mine. As our foremost guns 
had been fired, they had been instantly run in and loaded, and directly 
the enemy had passed us, putting down our helm, we luffed up 
and passed under her stern, raking her fore and aft, to the very 
great surprise of the Frenchmen, who little expected that we should 
so quickly again be able to deliver our fire. 

The rapidity with which we worked our guns was the chief cause 
of our success. Instead of tacking, as the enemy fancied we were 
going to do, we once more filled and ran after him. A loud shout 
burst from our crew. The Frenchman’s fore-topmast came tum- 
bling down on deck. We quickly came up after him and gave him 
a full dose of our larboard broadside. 

The two frigates, seeing how their consort had been handled, and 
that several of the Indiamen were crowding sail toward them, now 
set all the canvas they could spread in the hope of making their 
escape, very indifferent to the fate of their big consort, whom they 
seemed to think was powerful enough to take very good care of her- 
self. She, meantime, was signaling to them to remain to render 
her assistance while she brought us up toward them. 

We, by this time, had been pretty severely handled. We had 
fully twenty killed and twice as many wounded, while several of 
our spars had been shot away, and we were much cut up in sails 
and rigging. Night, too, was coming on, and it was important to 
keep our convoy together. We could not tell whether other French 
ships were near at hand, and if so, not only we, but many of the 


176 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


merchantmen under our charge might have been captured. All 
these things I thought of afterward, but not then, depend on it. 
Flushed with our success, we fully expected that we were going to 
make all the three Frenchmen strike. The enemy’s line-of-battle 
ship sailed well, and she quickly led us up in chase, so that we 
were exposed to the fire of her consorts as well as to hers. 

Under other circumtancess, I believe that our captain was the last 
man to have left a victory half won; but just as we were once more 
getting within range of the enemy’s guns, we hove to, and he sig- 
naled to the convoy to collect together and to continue their course 
to the southward. 

All on board were eager to see what was to happen. We thought 
that we "were going to make sail after the Indiamen, but we had 
not yet quite done with the enemy. We replied by a loud cheer as 
the ship’s head was once more kept toward them, and then running 
along their line we delivered another crashing broadside into them. 
We got something in return, though, and the shot from all the three 
ships came more thickly about us than ever. 

Not far from the gun at which I was serving I saw Saul Ley. 
Once he had disappeared, and I thought he had been wounded, but 
when the firing ceased he had come back to his gun. He had evi- 
dently attempted the same trick a second time, when we were once 
more unexpectedly brought into action, for a couple of men with 
rope’s ends were driving him back to his station. He had no help 
for himself but to remain, though fear had rendered his services of 
very little avail. 

At last the shot he so much dreaded reached him, and I saw him 
struck down bleeding on the deck. He shrieked out with terror and 
pain when he found himself wounded. 

‘ Oh, help me! help me! I shall die! I shall die! What will be- 
come of me?” he cried out. 

“ Why, you’ll have to go where many a better mail has gone be- 
fore you,” answered the rest of the crew of his gun, who, on ac- 
count of his arrant cowardice, had no feeling of compassion for 
him. He was, however, lifted from the deck and carried below, to 
be placed under the doctor’s care. 

The enemy, who had laid to for us, seeming to consider that noth- 
ing was to be gained by them if they continued the fight, but that 
they were far more likely to have to haul down* their flags or to be 
sunk, once more filled and stood away from us to the northward. 
It seemed a question whether we should follow or not, and I am 
very certain that no one felt more regret than did our captain at 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


177 


having to allow the enemy to escape when he had almost secured 
the victory. 

The property, however, intrusted to his care on board the fleet of 
Indiamen was of such vast amount that he could not venture to 
run the risk of any disaster. We had gallantly done our duty by 
beating off so far superior a force. The enemy was in full flight — we 
might have overtaken them — but if we had, and captured them all, 
we should have so completely weakened our crew that we could not 
have ventured to continue our voyage, and should certainly have 
had to put into port to refit. Our helm was accordingly put up, 
and once more we slood to the southward after our convoy. 

Having to leave the enemy was, I believe, a far greater trial and 
exertion of moral courage in our captain, than having to follow and 
attack them once more would have been. 

Some officers I have known would have gone after them, and per- 
haps have risked the loss of the richly-laden merchantmen under 
their charge. Our crew, to a man, felt this, and not a complaint 
or a growl was heard at our allowing the enemy to escape. 

Darkness soon hid them from our sight. The battle was over, 
but our work was not. All night long we were busy in repairing 
damages, and daylight still found us engaged in the same occupa- 
tion. The magazine was once more closed, the blood stained decks 
were washed down, and in the course of the day the ship resumed 
much of her wc nted appearance, though it was no easy work to get 
rid of the traces of the severe conflict in which we had lately been 
engaged. 

At length the hands were piped below, the watch on deck was 
set, and the others allowed to turn in and get some of that rest we 
so much needed. Then it was that the recollection of my painful 
position returned to me. I was a prisoner released for a time, with 
a severe punishment hanging over me. Suppose even the captain 
were to remit my punishment, in consequence of the way in which 
I knew that I had behaved in the. fight, I should still be loaded with 
disgrace. I should be looked upon as a convicted thief. Such 
were the feelings with which I went to my hammock. I was just 
about to turn in, when I heard my name called. 

“ The doctor has sent for you, Weatherhelm,” said the messenger, 
who was one of the hospital attendants. “ There is a man dying, 
and he wants to see you.” 

I slipped on my clothes and hurried down to the orlop deck. I 
found the pui ser, with the chaplain, standing near the hammock of 
a seaman. The surgeon came up at the same time. “Iam glad to 


178 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


see you, Weatherhelm,” he said in his usual kind way. “That 
poor wretch exonerates you from the charge he made against you, 
and begged to see you that he might ask your forgiveness.” 

I drew near the hammock, and in the features of the dying man 
I recognized those of Saul Ley. 

“ Weatherhelm, I’m a great villain; I know I am,” he cried out 
as soon as he saw me. “ There’s a greater, though, and he put me 
up to it. I would have let you be punished to save my own worth- 
less carcass, and, oh! now I’m suffering greater pain than ever the 
cat could give me. I stole all the things — I’ve been telling Mr. 
Nips. Then w r e persuaded those two silly lads that it was you, and 
when they saw me go and put them into your bag, they had no 
doubt about it, and so Iffley made them believe that they had seen 
you coming out of the store-room. That’s all about it. I’ve been 
speaking the truth and nothing but the t”uth. But you’ll forgive 
me, won’t you, Weatherhelm, and let me die easy?” 

“ I forgive you with all my heart, and I believe that I should 
have forgiven you even had I suffered the punishment awarded 
me,” I answered. “ I would ask you but one thing. Why do you 
fancy that Iffley is desirous to get me falsely accused?” 

“ Because he hates you, he told me so,” he said. “ He has a long 
score to wipe off against you, and he vowed if you escaped him this 
time, he would find means, before long, to be. revenged on you.” 

“ You hear what the man says,” observed Dr. M’Call to the other 
officers present. “ This is what I suspected, but had not the means 
of proving. We must not allow that ruffian Iffley to obtain his 
ends; for ruffian he is, notwithstanding his plausible manners. It’s 
an old story — Weatherhelm would rather it were not told — but 
there is nothing in it to do him discredit.” 

“ All I desire, sir, is, that I may be freed from the imputation cast 
on me, and that, thanks to your consideration in calling witnesses 
to hear this poor man’s dying confession, will, I am sure, be done.” 

“Rest assured of that,” remarked the chaplain. “And now I 
would say a few words to Saul Ley. You spoke of dying with a 
quiet conscience if you got forgiveness from the man you might 
have so cruelly injured, had you not been struck down by the hand 
of an avenging God; but you have not only forgiveness to seek from 
man, but from One who is mighty to saver, w r ho has the power and 
the will to wash away all your sins, if you put your entire faith and 
trust in Him, and repent you heartily of your former life.” 

“ I can not, I dare not. He wouldn’t listen to such a wretch as 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 179 

me. Don’t tell me to go to Him. Find some oilier means of sav- 
ing me — isn’t there? There must be. Do tell me of it!” 

“ There is none — none whatever,” answered the chaplain. ” Do 
not refuse the only means — a sure means — by which even the great- 
est of sinners may be saved.” 

“Oh, go on, sir, go on; tell me all about it, ” moaned the un- 
happy man. “ I’ve often before now thought of giving up my bad 
ways. I wish that I had done it long ago.” 

The chaplain looked at Dr. M’Call, to learn whether he might 
continue talking to the wounded man. The doctor signified that he 
might, but that it would be better if there were fewer persons 
present. 

“Yes; but he must first* sign the evidence he has given,” observed 
the purser, who was of necessity a good man. of business. “ JSTot 
only must the innocent escape punisl ment, but the guilty must be 
punished.” 

He accordingly wrote down the statement made by the wounded 
seaman, and, after reading it to him, put a pen into his hand to sign 
it. Ley took the pen and hurriedly wrote his name. He did not 
speak. Suddenly the pen fell from his hand — a shudder came over 
his frame— without a groan he fell back in his hammock. 

“ What has happened?” asked the chaplain. 

“ He has gone to his long account,” answered Dr. M’Call. 

Alas! how many die like him, talking and thinking about repent- 
ance, and saying that they will put their trust in Christ, but never 
go to Him, never repent! 

With a heart truly thankful for the dangers I had escaped and 
the mercies vouchsafed to me, I returned to my hammock, and 
slept more soundly than I had done for many a night. The next 
morning, after breakfast was over, all hands were piped on deck, 
and the captain sent for me. I found him and all the officers assem- 
bled on the quarter-deck. 

“ I have sent for you, Weatherhelm,” said the captain, “ to tell 
you that I am very glad you have escaped what would have been a 
very cruel and unjust punishment. My lads, you know that this 
man was accused not long ago of a very great crime. I rejoice to 
say that I have proof, undoubted, that he is entirely innocent. The 
man who accused him is dead, but he left evidence not only that this 
man is innocent, but that a most vile attempt has been made to ac- 
cuse him falsely. I know the man; let him beware that he is not 
caught in the trap he has laid for another.” 

While the captain was speaking, I caught sight of Iffiey’s counte* 


180 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


nance. Again I observed on it that expression of hatred and baffled 
vengeance, and when he himself was so palpably alluded to, there 
was mixed with it no small amount of craven apprehension. The 
stern eye of the captain ranged over the countenances of the crew. 
It rested a moment on him. He quailed before it. 

“ Pipe down!” cried the captain. 

Those of the crew not on duty went below. Many of the more 
steady men came up to me, and congratulated me on my escape, 
and I found in a short time that I had numbers of friends on board. 
Had it not been for the thought of my wife, and of my wish to re- 
turn home, I should have been happy. 

Iffley never came near me. He seemed to dread me far more than 
I dreaded him. I could not conceive what harm he could possibly 
do me now that he was known, and must have been aware that he 
was watched. Still I felt that it would be wiser to be on my guard 
against him. 

When the excitement of the occurrences I have described had 
passed away, a reaction took place, and I once more began to feel 
the misery of my position. It seemed like some horrid dream, and 
sometimes I almost hoped that I should awake and find that I was 
at home all the time, and that the scenes I was going through were 
but the effects of a dreadful nightmare. 

I frequently found myself reasoning on the subject, but there was 
a vividness and reality about everything which made me too justly 
doubt the soundness of my hopes. I had, before I was pressed, 
more than once been afflicted with a dream so like the present real- 
ity, that, as I say, I nearly persuaded myself that I was dreaming 
now. I had been torn away from my wife without being able to 
tell her where I was going. I sailed over strange seas without a kit, 
and without any preparation for the voyage; cast upon strange lands 
among savages, and had barely escaped with my life; I had wan- 
dered about among a variety of extraordinary scenes, and I had 
found on awaking that scarcely an hour had passed since I fell 
asleep. But day after day went by, and at length I felt very well 
assured that I was not dreaming a dream, but lmng through the sad 
reality. My great desire was to write home, at least to say where I 
was, and that I was well; but no opportunity occurred, not a home- 
ward-bound ship did we pass. 

We had been several weeks at sea, when one morning two sails 
were reported in sight from the mast-head. They were standing 
toward us. The idea was that they were two homeward-bound En- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


181 


glish merchantmen. I accordingly got ready a letter to send hofhe 
by one of them to my wife. 

As they drew near, however, they showed French colors. It was 
clear, we thought, that they had mistaken us for a French squadron. 
We accordingly hoisted French colors, and they ran on close under 
our guns. We then changed our colors for English, and fired a 
shot across their bows. They were evidently taken by surprise, and 
did not seem to know what to do. We fired another shot to quicken 
their imagination. On this they hove to and hauled down their 
colors. 

Directly afterward a boat came alongside from each of the 
strangers. The masters of the ships apparently were in them. They 
came on deck, and inquired what we wanted, and why we fired at 
them? They spoke tolerably good English, though in the French 
fashion. 

“ Why, gentleman, I am sorry for your sakes to say that war has 
again broken out between England and France and that we purpose 
to make prizes of your ships.” 

The poox Frenchmen looked very indignant, and then very un- 
happy, and stamped and swore and plucked the hair in handfuls 
from their heads. I thought they would have gone out of their 
minds, they seemed so miserable and furious; but they were allowed 
to rage on, and no one interfered with them 

At last our captain observed that it was the fortune of war, and 
a misfortune to which many brave men were subject, whereon they 
re-echoed the sentiment, shrugged their shoulders, and in ten min- 
utes were laughing and singing as if everything had turned out ex- 
actly as they could have wished it. 

The captain ordered two of the midshipmen to go on board the 
prizes to carry them home How the sound of the order set my 
heart beating! I had my letter ready to send. Could I but form 
one of their crews! I could scarely venture to ask the favor. 

Several men were chosen for each vessel. I understood that their 
numbers were complete. Again my heart sunk within me. My 
hopes had vanished. I was standing with my letter in my hand, 
when I saw Dr. M’Call go up to the captain. Directly afterward I 
was called up. 

“I understand, my man,” said our captain, “ that you have 
strong reasons for wishing to return home. You shall go in one of 
the prizes; get your bag ready.” 

How I blessed him for his kind words. In ten minutes I was on 
board the largest prize. She was ship rigged, called the “ Mouche,” 


182 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


and bound from the Isle of France to Bordeaux. Mr. Randolph 
was the name of the midshipman senl in charge of her. 

As I left the side of the “ Albion,” I saw Charles Iffley looking 
out at one of the ports. His features bore more strongly than ever 
the marks of hatred and anger, and when he saw that I was for a 
time beyond his reach, he shook his fist at me with impotent rage. 

The mates and some of the French crews were sent on board the 
“ Albion;” but two or three blacks and several Frenchmen remained 
on board the ships to help to navigate them. Still we were all to- 
gether but very short-handed. 

The other prize was tiie “ Nautile.” She was a very handsome 
ship, and soon gave evidence that her sailing qualities were superior 
to those of the “ Mouche.” 

I could scarcely believe my senses when I found myself actually 
on board a ship homeward-bound. I might in a few short weeks 
once more be united to my wife, instead of being kept away from 
her as I expected perhaps for years. The sudden turn of fortune 
almost overcame me. 

As I had had some difficulty in believing in the reality of my mis- 
ery, now I felt it scarcely possible to trust in the reality of my hap- 
piness. Too great for me seemed the joy. Yet I never anticipated 
for a moment that any evil could possibly be in store for me at the 
end of the voyage. I brought what I thought would be the reality 
clearly before my eyes. I pictured to myself my wife in our quiet 
little home, looking out on the ever-animated waters of the Solent, 
and the fleets of men-of-war and Indiamen and large merchantmen 
of all sorts brought up at Spithead. I thought of her, anxiously 
waiting to receive news of me; and then she rose up to my sight, as 
I thought she would be when she received notice that I had once 
more returned safe in limb and health to my native land. I had no 
doubt that I should be able to pay for a substitute, and thus be free 
from the risk of being again pressed and sent to sea. All before 
me appeared bright and encouraging. 

Mr. Randolph, the officer sent in charge of the “Mouche,” al- 
though still a midshipman, had seen a good deal of service, and was 
a brave young man. He had a difficult duty to perform. The 
“Mouche” turned out a very slow sailer, and was excessively 
leaky, so that we always had to keep three or four hands employed 
at a time at the pumps. Of course we made the Frenchmen do this 
work, at which they grumbled not a little; but we told them that 
had their ship not been leaky they would not have had to pump, and 
that they had no reason to complain. They did not much like our 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


183 


arguments, for they said that if we had not made prize of their 
vessel they should have been quietly continuing their voyage. 

Including the blacks, there were eight Frenchmen on board, 
while, with Mr. Randolph, we only mustered seven in all. We 
had therefore to keep a very constant look-out over them, lest they 
should attempt to take the vessel from us, a trick which more than 
once before had been played, and sometimes with success. 

I had always thought Mr. Randolph a good-natured, merry, sky- 
larking youngster; but the moment he took charge of the prize he 
became a most diligent, careful officer. He was always on deck, 
always on the look-out, at all hours of the day and night. 

I can not say so much in favor of the officer who had charge of 
the “ Nautile.” He was a mate, and consequently superior in rank 
to Mr. Randolph. Unfortunately they had had some dispute of 
long standing, and Mr. Simon, the mate I speak of, never lost an 
opportunity of showing his enmity and dislike to his younger 
brother officer. Here we had a practical example of how detrimen- 
tal to the interest of the service are anj r disputes between officers. 

To return, however, to the time when we first got on board our 
respective prizes, as they lay hove to close to the “ Albion.” The 
signal to us to make sail to the northward was hoisted from her 
masthead, and while she stood away after the tea-chests, we shaped 
a course for England. 

How different must our feelings have been to those of the un- 
fortunate Frenchmen, who saw the ships sailing away from them, 
while they had to go back to be landed they could not tell where, 
many months elapsing before they would again return to their 
families! 

The trade winds were at this time blowing across our course — 
indeed almost ahead, so that we made but very slow pi ogress. At 
first we kept close enough together, though there was no interchange 
of civilities between the two crews. When we were within hail, 
and the “ Nautile ” was going along with her maintopsail yard on 
the cap, while we had every sail set, and our yards braced sharp 
up, her people jeered and laughed at us, and called us slow coaches, 
and offered to give us a tow, and asked what messages they should 
take to our wives and families in England. This they only did 
when the officers were below. We replied that it was no fault of 
ours, that if they liked to exchange ships, we could say the same to 
them, but that we would not, for we could tell them that it was not 
pleasant to be taunted for nothing. 

At last Mr. Simon, standing one day on hbs taffrail, speaking- 


184 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


trumpet in hand, hailed and asked Mr. Randolph if he could not 
manage to make his ship walk along somewhat faster, for at this 
rate they would never get to England. 

“ Greater haste worst speed, Simon,” answered Mr. Randolph. 
“I’ve been doing my best to make the ‘ Mouche ’ move faster, but 
she’s a slow fly, and I can not do it. Besides, she is very leaky, 
and we have had hard work to keep her afloat. ” 

“ Let her sink, then,” answered Mr. Simon; “ I do not see why 
she should be delaying us, and giving us a double chance of being 
retaken by the enemy. ’ ’ 

“ While I live and have a man who will stick by me, I’ll stick 
by the ship put under my charge,” replied Mr. Randolph; “ still 1 
must beg you to remain by us. My own people and I will do our 
best to keep her afloat. When we find we can do so no longer we 
will claim your assistance, and get you to take us on board.” 

“ Oh, is that what you calculate on? We’ll see about it,” was 
Mr. Simon’s very unsatisfactory reply. 

“ We’ll trust to you not deserting us,” sung out Mr. Randolph. 
“ If a gale were to spring up we should have hard work to keep her 
afloat ; remember that. ’ ’ 

“ What’s that you say? I can’t hear,” answered Mr. Simon, as 
his ship shot ahead of ours. 

' ‘ He heard well enough, but does not intend to heed, I fear,” said 
Mr. Randolph, turning round and walking hurriedly up and down 
the deck. “ We must trust to our own energies, and my lads will 
stick by me, I know that.” 

Our cargo consisted of sugar, coffee, and rice, and other valuable 
but bulky articles produced in the East, so that we could not move 
them to get at the leaks. A very steady man, Thomas Andrews, a 
quartermaster, was acting as first mate, and he having spoken well 
of me to Mr. Randolph, I was appointed to do duty as second mate, 
or, I might say more justly, to take charge of a watch. Mr. Ran- 
dolph seemed to put a good deal of confidence in mp, and he now 
summoned Andrews and me, and consulted us what it might be 
best to do toward stopping the leaks. 

“It is bad enough now,” he observed, “but it will be much 
worse should a gale spring up and cause the ship to labor heavily.” 

Andrews and I offered to hunt about to try and find out where 
the worst leaks existed. We accordingly worked our way down 
into the bows of the ship in every direction, at no little risk of being 
suffocated, and at length we assured ourselves from the appearance 
of the planking, which looked as if the bows had been stove in, that 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


185 


she had run against the butt-end of a piece of timber. It seemed a 
miracle how the ship could have kept afloat with so large a fracture 
in her bottom. We reported our discovery to Mr. Randolph, who 
descended with us to examine the danger. 

“ Well, if the worst comes to the worst, we can but get on board 
the ‘ Nautile,’ ” he observed. “ In the meantime we’ll do our best 
to keep the old ship afloat.” 

Mr. Randolph directed me to take charge of the ship, and to keep 
an eye on the proceedings of the Frenchmen, while he and Andrews, 
with two men, descended below with all the planks and carpenter’s 
tools to be found, to try and repair, as far as they could, the 
damage. Night was coming on, so that it was important to get the 
work done as speedily as possible. I meantime turned my eye 
every now and then at our consort, for she was evidently getting 
further ahead than she was accustomed to do. I hoped, however, 
that she would soon shorten sail or lay to for us, as she had always 
done at nightfall. Still she stood on. 

Darkness was coming down rapidly on us, and at length I could 
scarcely distinguish her. I did not like to tell Mr. Randolph, for 
of course this would only interrupt the work in which he was en- 
gaged; but I marked well the point by the compass in which I had 
last seen the “ Nautile,” that we might know where to look for her 
in the morning. 

Three hours passed aWay before Mr. Randolph and Andrews re- 
turned on deck. They said that the/ had been able to patch up the 
leak far better than they expected, and that if the weather held 
moderate we might hope to carry the ship into Plymouth. 

The night passed by much as usual. The French prisoners had 
hitherto behaved very well, and seemed so inclined to be peaceable 
and orderly that insensibly our vigilance over them relaxed. It was 
my morning watch on deck. I looked out anxiously for the “ Nau- 
tile ” when daylight dawned. Brighter and brighter grew the day, 
but in vain I rubbed my eyes. Not a sign of her was to be seen. 

Mr. Simon had, then, cruelly and shamefully deserted us. Com- 
plaints, and more than* complaints, both loud and deep, were ut- 
tered. He knew our condition — he knew that we were any moment 
liable to founder — and still he made sail and left us merely to get 
home a few days sooner, or to run some little less risk himself of 
recapture. It is very seldom that I have heard of conduct so selfish 
in the navy, or, indeed, in the merchant service. 

I do not want to make out that seamen are better than other men, 
but I maintain that they are certainly not worse, and that in many 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


m 

respects they are as honest and free from vice as any other class of 
men. One thing was very certain, we could not hope to overtake 
him. We must therefore take care of ourselves as best we could. 
The leak had been partially stopped, and if we continued to en joy 
fine weather, we might get into port very well; and, as Andrews 
observed, “ The prize is not always to the strong, nor the race to 
the swift. ’ ’ Our consort might run his head into the very dangers 
he was so anxious to avoid. 

We went on very well for two or three days longer, and then I 
could not help remarking t hat there w r as a considerable change in 
the manner of the Frenchmen. They were far less obedient and 
civil than they had been, and when ordered to perform any duty, 
they went about it in a sulky, disagreeable manner. 

Mr. Randolph, I thought, did not observe the change, but I 
mentioned the subject to Andrews. 

“I’ll keep my eye on the fellows,” said he. “They’ll find it 
rather difficult to catch a weasel asleep.” 

A few days after this we fell in with a westerly breeze, which in- 
creased rapidly into a strong gale, and away we ran before it much 
faster than the old “ Mouche ” had yet been made to fly. 

Unfortunately the sea got up, and the ship began to labor very 
much. The consequence was, as we had expected, the leak we had 
patched up once more burst open, and it became necessary to keep 
all hands, watch and watch, at the pumps. . Mr. Randolph took his 
spell like the rest of us, and no one seemed to work with a more 
hearty good-will. 

I watched with some anxiety to see what the Frenchmen would 
do. First one of them fell down while working at the pumps, and 
when we picked him up he said that he was so ill he could not 
labor any more, but must go to his hammock. Then another fol- 
lowcd his example, and then a third, and a fourth, till only one 
remained besides the three blacks, who went on working away as 
merrily as ever. 

The fifth Frenchman seemed suddenly to get into very good 
humor, and to exert himself as much as any of us. Had the gale 
continued I believe that we should all of us really have been 
knocked up, but happily we very quickly ran out of it, and once 
more we had smooth water and a fair breeze. 

While the sea was still running high the only Frenchman who 
remained on deck, as he was coming aft, slipped and fell. Two of 
the blacks only were near him. They picked him up, while he 
cried out with pain, asserting that he had either broken his arm or 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


187 


put it out of joint. He insisted on being carried to his hammock, 
and when Mr. Randolph offered to try and doctor him, he shrieked 
out and declared that he could not bear the pain of being touched. 
At last we were obliged to let him alone, and then we had all our 
live prisoners laid up and apparently useless. 

It thus became more important than ever to try once more to stop 
the leak. Mr. Randolph and Andrews accordingly set about it as 
they had done the first time, taking with them two hands. This 
left only two others, besides me, on deck, and the three blacks. 
Negroes have, I have always fancied, very little command over 
their countenances, and if a person is accustomed to watch them, he 
will always be able to discover, almost as easily as he would among 
a party of children, whether there is anything in the wind. Now, 
as I saw the negroes moving about the decks, I fell very sure from 
the roll of their eyes and the way in which every now and then they 
exhibited their teeth, that they had a grand secret among them. I 
stepped aft, and telling the man at the helm to be on his guard, I 
called Sam Jones, the only other man left on deck, and sent him 
down into the cabin to collect all the arms he could find, to load the 
pistols and muskets, and to place them just inside the companion 
hatch, so that I could get at them in a moment. 

“ Now,” said I to Jones, “ just go forward as if you were think- 
ing of nothing particular, and then slip quietly down below and tell 
Mr. Randolph that I think there’s something wrong, and that he 
had better be on his guard and return on deck as quickly as pos- 
sible. Do you jump up again without a moment’s delay. Get a 
handspike or anything you can lay hold of, and keep guard over 
the fore hatchway, and see that neither the blacks nor any of the 
Frenchmen go down there.” 

“ But the Frenchmen, they can’t do any harm; they are all sick 
in bed,” observed Jones. 

“ Don’t be too certain of their sickness,” I observed. "They 
may be sick, but it is just possible that they are shamming, and it is 
well to be on the safe side.” 

Without further delay Jc nes went forward to do as I directed 
him. I meanwhile stood by the companion-hatch, ready to hand a 
musket up to Thompson, the man at the helm, should occasion 
arise to require it. The Frenchmen, I ought to have said, all slept 
together in a part of the hold which was picked off for their ac- 
commodation. I kept watching the blacks narrowly. I saw their 
eyes turned every now and then toward the main hatchway. 1 was 


188 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


convinced that no time was to be lost if bloodshed was to be 
prevented. 

“A heavy squall coming on,” I shouted out. “Hands aloft 
and furl topsails! Here, Sambo, Julius, Quasha, aloft wilh you 
quickly and furl the maintopsail. ” They pretended not to hear 
me, but once more looked down the hatchway. “ Do you hear? 
Up with you, you scoundrels!” I shouted out at the top of my 
voice, loud enough, I thought, at all events, for Jones- to hear me. 
At that moment the heads of three Frenchmen appeared above the 
combing of the main hatchway. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Overpower mutineers— A suspicious sail--Chased— Captured by French priva- 
teer— Carried into St. Malo— Plan for escaping— Carouse of privateer’s crew 

—La Motte’s dangerous expedition— Escape from harbor. 

The moment I saw the heads of the Frenchmen I handed out a 
musket from the companion-hatch, and gave it to Thompson, while 
I took one myself and leveled it at them. “ Ah, my friends, under- 
stand that I will fire at the first man of you who steps on deck!” I 
sung out. “ Return to your beds, if you are sick, but on deck you 
must not venture. ’ ’ 

Thompson imitated my example, and we both stood with our 
muskets leveled and ready to put our threats into execution. At 
first the Frenchmen popped down again very quickly, but gaining 
courage, they all five put their heads up again at the same moment. 

Looking round and seeing only Thompson and me on deck, they 
sprung up as if they were about to make a desperate rush toward 
us, thinking of course that they could easily overcome two men. 

Telling Thompson to aim at the blacks in the rigging to keep 
them there, I covered the foremost Frenchman with my musket. I 
could have killed him on the spot, but I was most unwilling to shed 
blood except in the very last necessity. Once more I sung out. He 
continued advancing. 

“ I have given you ample warning!” I cried out. My finger was 
on the trigger. 

At that moment Mr. Randolph, followed by Andrews and the other 
men, sprung on deck, and seeing the state of affairs, each of them 
grasping a handspike, they ran toward the Frenchmen. 

The latter soon saw that their opportunity was lost. The negroes, 
for the sake of being more out of the way, as they fancied, of 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


189 


Thompson’s musket, had climbed as high as they could up the rig- 
ging, so that he was able to hold another Frenchman in check. 

The Frenchman nearest to me, seeing my resolute bearing, and 
having no fancy for throwing his life away even for the sake of his 
companions, very wisely backed against them, and they seeing Mr. 
Randolph and his party advancing from forward, to avoid getting 
their heads broken, leaped precipitately down the hatchway, whence 
they had but* just before emerged. 

Leaving Thompson to keep the blacks aloft with his musket, I 
sprung to the hatchway and sung out, “ We do not want to do you 
any harm, but if you attempt any trick, for our own sakes we must 
shoot every one of you!” I said this because I saw one of them 
striking away over a tinder-box, with the intention, I had little 
doubt, of trying to set the ship on fire. 

Mr. Randolph highly applauded me for what I had done. On 
looking below and seeing what the Frenchmen were about, he and 
Andrews, with Jones and another man, leaped down among them, 
and seizing the first they could lay hands on, lifted him up crop 
and heels to me. The move so much astonished his companions, 
that they did not come to his assistance; and another being treated 
in the same way, we had their forces divided, ^nd very speedily 
brought them to terms. We first lashed the hands of the two we 
had on deck behind them, and made them sit down with their backs 
against the bulwarks on the starboard side, and then we got up the 
other three one by one, and placed them, bound in the same way, 
on the opposite side. Next we called down the blacks, and arranged 
them round the mainmast. 

“ Now, my friends, by all the laws of War you ought to be shot!’ ’ 
said Mr. Randolph. “ We treated you very kindly; we gave you 
of the best of everything on board, and in return you have at- 
tempted to knock us on the head, and to take the ship from us. 
However, it was natural that you should wish to recover what was 
once your own, so that if you will promise, on the honor of French- 
men, not to make another attempt of the sort, we will allow you 
your freedom during the day-time, on certain conditions. Three 
of you must remain forward, and never come abaft the foremast 
unless I call you; and two must never go before the mizzenmast- 
at night we must shut you all up. I warn you. also, that as surely 
as any one of you attempts to infringe these regulations, I will 
shoot him. We are very good friends; I do not bear you the 
slightest enmity, but our own safety demauds this.” 

Our prisoners shrugged their shoulders. “ (Test la fortune de la 


190 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


guerre was the only answer they at first made. They most of 
them understood pretty clearly what Mr. Randolph had said; be- 
sides, one, who understood English the best, interpreted to the rest. 

Mr. Randolph waited a little time. “ Do you agree to my terms?” 
he asked. 

“ Oui, monsieur ; oui, oui ,” was answered by all of them simul- 
taneously. 

‘If I grant you your freedom at once, will you give me your 
honor to act as I desire?” asked Mr. Randolph. “I do not wish 
you to do so while you sit there bound like slaves.” 

The idea seemed to take their fancy amazingly, and* as soon as we 
had unlashed their arms, by Mr. Randolph’s orders, they got up, 
and all together, putting their hands on their breasts, swore solemnly 
not again to attempt to retake the ship. It is impossible to describe 
their manner, or the air with which they uttered the words. 

They did not seem, however, much to like being kept separate 
from each other, but Mr. Randolph very wisely would not abate in 
any way the regulations he had formed. He allowed one of them 
at a time to go into the caboose to cook, for they did not at all ap- 
prove of our style of cooking, and one of them, who spoke English, 
remarked that if was only fit for bears and wolves. We laughed, 
and observed, in return, that people have different tastes, and that 
we had no fancy for the kickshaws and trifles which satisfied them. 
(Quelque chose and troufles, perhaps I ought to have written.) 

When a Frenchman is asked what he will have for dinner, he be- 
gins by saying quelque chose au troufles , and then goes on to enu- 
merate all sorts of things, just as an Englishman replies, a mutton- 
chop or beefsteak, and finally orders turtle-soup, salmon, and a veni- 
son pasty; not that I can own tD having ever been guilty of such a 
proceeding. 

After we had settled with the Frenchmen, we allowed the blacks 
to come down, and ordering them into the waist, told them to keep 
there on pain of being shot, and on no account to communicate with 
any one else. They, grinning, pointed to our muskets, and assured 
us that while we kept those in our hands they would most implicitly 
obey us. 

These matters being arranged, we each of us stuck a brace of pis- 
tols in our belts, and hung cutlasses to our sides, while a musket 
was placed so that the man at the wheel could get hold of it in a 
moment. The rest of the arms and powder were locked up in the 
after-cabin. 

These precautions were, I am convinced, not greater J;han were 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


191 


necessary. When the Frenchmen saw that we had taken them, and 
that we were wide awake, they did not dream of breaking their 
word; but had we exhibited any carelessness, or any undue confi- 
dence in them, the honor they had pledged would not, I suspect, 
have resisted the temptation which they would have felt again to try 
and take the ship from us. 

As it was, all went on very quietly. We soon got once more into 
the way of joking and talking with the Frenchmen, and apparently 
w r ere on as good terms as ever, but Mr. Randolph every now and 
then gave us a hint to be on our guard. 

“ Don’t trust them, my men,” said he. “ The more they laugh, 
and chatter, and smile, the more they are inclined for mischief, de- 
pend on that.” 

He was right, and I think, considering his youth, that he deserved 
• great credit for his discretion and judgment; for I believe that many 
an older man might have been deceived by the plausibility of their 
manners and their apparent cordiality. 

Fortunately we had very fine weather, and a fair wind, and in 
about a week after the 'occurrence I have described we struck sound- 
ings in the chops of the Channel. Our difficulties and dangers, how- 
ever, were not over; we had to keep a stricter watch than ever on 
our prisoners, for they could tell by the color of the water that we 
were near home, and that if they did not at once regain their liberty 
they must give up all hopes of so doing. We had likewise to keep 
a constant look out for strange sails. The enemy’s privateers 
abounded, we knew, in the mouth of the Channel, though their men- 
of-war were not so fond at the time of showing themselves in those 
latitudes where they were very likely to be picked up by British 
cruisers. 

With the few hands we had on board, we could scarcely hope to 
make a successful resistance against any armed vessel; still, when 
Mr. Randolph asked us if we would stick by him should we fall in 
with an enemy, we promised to do our best. 

“ Never fear, then,” said he: “ though we might not be able to 
beat them off, we’ll try and frighten them away. As we can not 
expect the Frenchmen to help us, wee’ll make their clothes serve 
some purpose at all events.” 

We had discovered some chests of clothes in the ship, and most 
of the prisoners had more than one suit; these we instantly set to 
work to fill with straw, and in a short time we had manufactured a 
crew of forty men at least. W e rigged out some as office’ s, and 
put spy glasses in their hands, and, knocking out the flints of some 


192 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


of the muskets, we put them into the hands of others, and stuck 
them about the ship. We then loaded all the guns and ran them 
out, and got ready also all the remainder of the firearms. 

“ Had the ‘ Nautile ’ stuck by us we might have put a very good 
face on the matter, whatever craft we might have fallen in with, if 
she had done as we have,” Mr. Randolph observed to me as I stood 
at the helm. 

“ It is a pity, sir; but I hope we may still run the gantlet of our 
enemies and get safe into port,” I answered; and earnestly, indeed, 
did I pray that such might be our lot. 

As I drew nearer home, still more intense had become my anxiety 
to ascertain the fate of my beloved wife. I will not here dwell on 
the subject. Sometimes the thought of all she must have suffered 
on my account and on her own became almost insupportable. I felt 
that it was wiser not to dwell on it, and yet I could not cast it from 
me. My only, my great resource was prayer — great and supporting 
it was. Let any one, placed as I was, try it, and they will find . 
Ihat I in no way overrate it. Whenever I felt the miserable depress- 
ing feeling coming on, I fled instantly to that great source of com- 
fort, of all true happiness, and it never failed me. 

However, as I say, I will not dwell on that subject now. I may 
be inclined thus to write, but all who read may not be in a proper 
frame of mind to reflect on the matter, and thus I may perchance 
do more harm than good. 

As I was saying, we had been keeping a bright look-out, even be- 
fore we struck soundings, both day and night. If the wind should 
hold fair, in two or three days we might hope to be in Plymouth 
Sound. 

All hands were talking of home, of those they expected to meet, 
and of the delights of a run on shore. The night was very fine, but 
toward morning a thin mist settled down over the sea, and though 
it did not obscure the bright stars which glittered overhead, it pre- 
vented us from seeing to any great distance around. However, we 
every now and then hove the lead, and we were convinced that we 
were in the fairway up Channel. 

At length, when daylight slowly broke, the mist assumed a white, 
silvery appearance, the smooth water close alongside could clearly 
be perceived, and the mist was seen as it were skirmishing round 
us, broken away, it seemed, by our coming against it, and then it 
grew thicker and thicker, till the eye could no longer penetrate 
through it. We might have been, for what we could tell, in the 
center of an enemy’s fleet. I made the remark to Mr. Randolph. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


103 


“ Should such he the case, the mist will prove our best friend,’ * 
he answered. “ I only wish that it may continue till we get abreast 
of Plymouth; it may help us to run the gantlet of our enemies.” 

We glided steadily and swiftly on for about aD hour or more after 
this, with everything set alow and aloft, and studden sails rigged 
out on either side, there being a light air from the westward. 

Suddenly, I felt a puff of wind from the northward just fan my 
left cheek as I stood at the helm. Again it came, and I had to keep 
the ship away to prevent her being taken aback. We, however, got 
a pull at the lee braces, and again kept her on her course without 
taking in the studden sails; again the wind came from the nor’ard 
of west, and most reluctantly we had to take in all our studden 
sails, one after the other, and to brace the yards up on the larboard 
tack. Scarcely had we done so when the breeze increased still more. 

I was looking to leeward trying to pierce the mist, when, as if by 
magic, a wide rent was made in it. Upward it lifted, rolling away 
rapidly on either side, and revealing in the space thus made clear, a 
long, low craft floating in the water, without a stitch of canvas set 
on her short stumps of masts. I pointed her out to Mr. Randolph. 

“ I am afraid that she is mischievous, sir,” «aid I. “ There’s a 
wicked look about her which does not at all please me. She is 
more like a French privateer than any other craft I know of.” 

“She is not a big one, at at all events, ” he answered. “We 
ought to be able to tackle her, and our dummies may do us good 
service by keeping her at a respectful distance. However, she 
may be a Jersey or a Guernsey-man, they have many lugger priva- 
teers. What do you think, Andrews?” 

“ She may be a Jersey-man, but, to my mind, that craft was built 
and fitted out in France, whoever now owns her,” answered An- 
drews. “ Weatherhelm ought to know, he has served aboard some 
of them.” 

“I ain afraid she Is French, sir,” said I, after I had taken a 
steady look at her. “ And whatever she is, there is up sail and 
after us. If the fellow has a quickish pair of heels, he’ll very soon 
cut us off.” 

While I was speaking, the square-headed sails of the lugger were 
run up on her short, stumpy masts. Above them quickly appeared 
their topsails, almost as big as the lower sails, and away she came 
bowling after us, at a rate which gave us not the slightest hope of 
escape, if she should prove an enemy, unless some bigger friend 
might appear to assist us. 

Now we more than ever felt the desertion of the “ Nautile.” Had 
7 


194 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


she remained with us, we two together might have been able to give 
a very good account of so small an enemy — indeed, we should prob- 
ably not have been attacked. Our only resource was, however, to 
put as bold a face on the matter as we could. The Frenchmen had 
not yet come on deck, so Mr. Randolph ordered them to be kept 
down below that they might not make any signs to the enemy. He 
took the helm, and ordered us to stand tD our guns. Each of us 
had a musket by our sides, and he ordered us first to let fly a vol- 
ley, and then, without a moment’s delay, to fire a broadside. 

We hoped thus to prevent the enemy from discovering the small- 
ness of our numbers, and we trusted that we might by chance knock 
away some of his spars and prevent him from following us. I could 
not help admiring the gallant way in which the little craft dashed 
on toward us. It looked as if we might have run over her, and sent 
her to the bottom without the slightest difficulty. 

“ Be ready, my men,” shouted Mr. Randolph as she got within 
musket-shot of us. Leaving the helm, he sprung on the taffrail, 
and, cap in hand, waved the lugger off, pointing to his guns as if 
he was about to fire. 

We had meantime hoisted the English ensign to our peak. The 
lugger paid not the slightest heed to his signals, but stood on edging 
up to us. Again he waved. A musket-ball came whizzing by and 
very nearly knocked him over. Had it been sent from a rifle his 
moments would have been numbered. I never saw a cooler or 
braver young man. 

“Give it them, then, my lads, and with a will,” he shouted. 
“ They think, perhaps, we are not in earnest.” 

We each of us took steady aim, and, as the men were exposed on 
the decks, we believed that we had knocked several of them over. 
Some of us had a couple of muskets, and as we fired one after the 
other as rapidly as we could, we hoped that we had given the ene- 
my a respectful idea of our numbers. Mr. Randolph had three 
muskets, and as soon as he had fired them he began to reload, tend- 
ing the wheel at the same time. 

“ Now give them a taste of the big guns!” he shouted out. With 
a shout we let fly our whole broadside, but the way in which of 
necessity we run the guns in again to reload might have betrayed 
us. 

We had hoped that after the hot reception we had given the lug- 
ger she would have sheered off, but not a bit of it. On she came as 
boldly as at first, and before we had time to run one of our guns 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


195 


out again she had come alongside, and hove her grappling irons 
aboard us. 

To hope to defend ourselves was useless, so retreating aft we ral- 
lied round Mr. Randolph, while we allowed the enemy, who 
swarmed in numbers up the side, to expend their rage on our dum- 
mies. They seemed highly amused at our trick, for loud shouts of 
laughter broke from them when they discovered the enemy to whom 
they had been opposed. As we made no further resistance, they 'did 
not attempt to injure us. Their officer came aft and put out his hand 
to Mr. Randolph. 

“You are a brave young man,” said he, in very fair English. 
“ You have defended your ship npbly, and had I not before per- 
fectly known the number of people you had on board, and your 
means of defense, you would have deceived me, and I should have 
sheered off.” 

Mr. Randolph took the hand offered to him, and thanking the 
captain of the French privateer (for such he was) for the good 
opinion he entertained of him, inquired how he came to know any- 
thing about us. 

“ I took your consort, the ‘ Nautile,’ three days ago, and have 
evdt since been on the lookout for you, ’ ’ was the answer* * ‘ They 
told me on board when to expect you, and how many you were in 
crew. When, therefore, I saw the figures you had dressed up, I 
walched them narrowly, and seeing that they did not move, sus- 
pected a trick. But what have you done with my countrymen? 
You have several as prisoners.” 

Mr. Randolph assured him that they were safe, and that we had 
shut tllem up that they might be out of harm’s way, and might not 
interfere with the defense of the ship. 

Altogether, the French captain was so delighted with his success 
in capturing us and the rich prizes he had obtained (for we found 
that he had already taken several other vessels besides the “ Nau- 
tile ”), that he promised we might depend upon being treated with 
every courtesy. He then went below and released the other French- 
men, who were so overjoyed at their escape from the English prison 
in which they expected in a few days to be lodged, that they rushed 
into the arms of their countrymen, and such a scene of hugging, 
and kissing, and shouting, and jabbering I never before beheld. We 
could not tell what they might say of us, and we were afraid that 
the tide which had been in our favor might turn, but they appar- 
ently gave a fair report of the way we had treated them, and our 
captors were as friendly as before. 


196 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


No longer time than was necessary was lost. We Englishmen 
were transferred to the lugger, and a few more Frenchmen were sent 
on board the ship, and together we stood away before the wind for 
St. Malo, on the French coast. 

I need not say that, independently of having to go to a French 
prison, how wretched I was at finding in a moment all the hopes I 
entertained of once more returning home completely blasted. I 
could have sat down and wept bitterly, but tears would not come lo 
my eyes. I thought my heart would indeed break. 

Mr. Randoph had been invited into the captain’s cabin, and was 
treated with every courtesy. Some of the men had gone forward, 
but I felt no inclination to leave the deck. I sat down on a gun- 
carriage, turning my eyes in the direction of the shore on which I 
had hoped so soon to land, and which now I might not visit for 
many a day. I can not picture my wretchedness. I only hope that 
none of my readers may feel the same. I rested my head upon my 
hands in a vain endeavor to drive away thought. It was truly a 
dark moment of my existence. I felt even as if I could not pray. 
I had sat thus for some time, when I felt a hand pressed on my 
shoulder. 

“ Willand, is it you — you indeed, lad?” said a voice, in a kindly 
tone which I felt I ought to know. 

I looked up. Before me stood a fine, sailor-like looking fellow. 
I scanned his countenance narrowly, and then springing to my feet 
put out my hand. “ La Motte, my dear fellow, it is you yourself, 
I am sure of itl” I exclaimed. “ Where did you come from? How 
did you find yourself on board here?” 

‘ ‘ I have been to, and come from, all parts of the world since we 
parted, and I’ll tell you all about that another time,” he answered. 
“ And as to being on board here, I am a prisoner like yourself. The 
craft I belonged to, of which I was first mate, was captured two 
days ago and sent into St. Malo. I have no greater reason to be 
happy than you have. However, the Frenchmen treat us very civil- 
ly on board, and that is a satisfaction; we might have been much 
worse off. ’ ’ 

We might indeed, for very often the French privateers treated 
their prisoners with great cruelty, robbing them of their money and 
clothes, and half starving them. They were then sent on shore, and 
thrust into some wretched, dirty prison, where they were allowed 
to linger out their days till the end of the war. Such we had ex- 
pected to be our fate. 

The Frenchmen believed that the English did not treat their pris- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


197 


oners any better. They had a story written by one of their country- 
men, a French officer, who had broken his parole and got back to 
France, to the effect that French prisoners were fed in England on 
horse-flesh and beans. He declared that on one occasion the in- 
specting officer of prisons rode into a court-yard of a prison, where 
he left his horse, and that as soon as he had disappeared, the 
famished prisoners set upon it, and tearing the horse to pieces, de- 
voured it and the saddle also; and that when the officer got back, 
he found only the slirrup-irons and the bit in the horse’s mouth. 

Whatever we may Ihink of the digestibility of the morsels carried 
off by the hungry prisoners, the tale seems to have been eagerly 
swallowed by the countrymen of the narrator. 

La Motte endeavored to cheer me up, by talking of old times and 
of our adventures in the Mediterranean and elsewhere — indeed, I 
felt his presence a very great comfort. He was of a most cheerful, 
happy disposition, and allowed nothing to put him out. 

“ I was on my way home from the West Indies in a fine brig, 
the ‘ Ann,’ and I had a little venture on board of my own, with 
which I hoped to make a good addition to my fortune, and perhaps, 
before long, to settle down and marry. Well, it’s all gone; but 
what’s the use of sighing? What has happened to me has hap- 
pened to a thousand other better men much less able to bear it. So 
I say to myself, ‘ Better luck next time. I never can abide those 
people who sigh, and moan, and groan if any mishap overtakes 
them, as if they were the only unfortunate people in the world. To 
everybody they meet they tell their woes, as if nothing else was of 
so much consequence. You are not one of those, Weatherhelm, I 
know, nor am I. Everything comes right in the mill at last, if we 
will but wait patiently till the mill turns round.” 

La Motte rattled on in this way till he talked me into better spirits 
again. At all events he prevented me from dwelling on my mis- 
fortunes. 

“ Now, in reality, we ought to consider ourselves very fortunate,” 
he continued. “ We might have been captured by a set of ruffianly 
fellows, who would have robbed us and ill-treated us in every way. 
Instead of that the crew are the best sort of privateer’s-men 1 ever 
fell in with. The captain and first mate are very good, kind-hearted 
men. They have both of them been made prisoners themselves, 
and have spent a year or more in England. They tell me that they 
love the English, for that they were treated with the greatest kind- 
ness all the time they were in England, and that they wish to repay 
that kindness, though I must say they take an odd way to show 


198 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


their love by fitting out a vessel to go and rob them on the high 
seas; but I suppose that is their profession, and they can not help 
it.” 

While La Motte was speaking a fine-looking man came up, and, 
taking him by the arm, addressed him as his Ion ami, and told him 
that dinner was ready. 

La Motte thanked him, and then told him that I was an old ship- 
mate, and hoped that he would extend the same kindness to me that 
he had done to him. 

My new friend was, I found, the mate of the privateer. He said 
certainly, and begged that I would at once come down and join 
them at dinner. At first I was inclined to refuse, as I thought Mr. 
Randolph would consider me presuming if I was to go and sit down 
at table with him; but La Motte, finding that he was a sensible, 
good-natured young officer, undertook to explain matters to him. 

We found Mr. Randolph and the captain already seated at the 
table. La Motte, in a few words, explained that I was an old 
friend and shipmate of his, and that if I was not I ought to be an 
officer, and hoped that he would not be offended. 

Mr. Randolph laughed, and said certainly not, and I soon felt at 
my ease. 

The Frenchmen were in high glee at the number of prizes they 
had taken, and, as they had a fair wind, they fully expected in 
a couple of days, at furthest, to be safe within the harbor of St. 
Malo. I knew from sad experience that there is many a slip be- 
tween the cup and the lip, and I hoped that we might yet, before 
we reached the looked-for harbor, fall in with a man-of-war or a 
bigger privateer and be recaptured; of course I did not give expres- 
sion to my wishes, but on such a chance my only hope rested of 
reaching home. 

After dinner I went on deck again, and continued pacing up and 
down, anxiously scanning the horizon in the hope of discovering 
some sail coming in pursuit of us. Though I was aware that my 
presence on deck could not in any way bring about this result, still 
I could not tear myself away again till night closed down upon us. 

La Motte then insisted on my coming below. “ I told the French- 
men something of your story,” said he; “ if I had not done so they 
would have tnought you discourteous, and your conduct somewhat 
strange. However, they now enter into your feelings and pity you 
heartily. ’ ’ 

"I am indeed obliged to you. La Motte,” said I. “ But some- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


199 


how or other I do not like to have myself talked about. My feelings 
appear to me to be too sacred to be mentioned except to a friend.” 

“ That is very natural and right,” he answered. “ But, believe 
me, Weatherhelm, I did what was for the best, and I am certain 
you will benefit by it.” 

At last I turned in for the night, and, wearied out with anxiety, 
fell asleep. I was conscious that I was on board the privateer, but 
I dreamed that we were chased and overtaken by a ship-of-war, and 
that just as her boat was boarding us we blew up. Then I found 
myself, with many of my companions, floating about in the water, 
without any ship in sight or means of escape. 

At length I awoke, and the recollection of all that had occurred 
came pressing down on my heart like a heavy weight. Feeling that 
the cool, fresh air might revive me, I dressed and went on deck. It 
was bitterly cold, with a sharp northerly breeze blowing, the sky 
was of one uniform gray, while the water, which rose and fell 
without breaking, was of a dull leaden hue. 

No prospect could have been more cheerless and uninviting. The 
“ Mouche,” under all sail, was bowling on ahead (I suspected that 
the French crew would have no little difficulty in keeping her 
afloat) while the lugger was acting the part of a whipper-in. I cast 
my eyes round the horizon. Away to the eastward they encountered 
a sail just rising above the water. I watched her for some time, till 
I was convinced that she was a large ship, and standing toward us. 

At length she attracted the attention of the second mate, who was 
the officer of the watch. He began to eye her somewhat anxiously, 
and in a short time he sent down and called up the first mate. They 
looked at their own sails, and then at the stranger, and then at the 
“ Mouche,” as if consulting what was to be done, and then finally 
called up the captain. They evidently could not at all satisfy them- 
selves as to the character of the approaching ship. 

I anxiously scanned their countenances; as I observed them fall- 
ing, so my own hopes rose, that the sail in sight might prove an 
English ship-of-war. I tried in vain to conceal my own anxiety by 
walking up and down the deck, as I had done the day before. 

The French officers seemed at length to have decided on some 
plan which satisfied them. The “ Mouche ” had already made all 
the sail she could carry; she had royals set and studden sails out 
on either side, while the lugger followed, under her ordinary canvas, 
in her wake. While I was walking up and down, the first mate 
joined me. 

“ Ah, my friend!” said he, in very good English, “ you hope the 


200 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


vessel in sight is a countryman. That is very natural. We hope 
that if she is, we shall escape her. We intend to do our best to get 
away, be assured of that. If, however, we are taken, you will re- 
member that all Frenchmen are not savages, and that we were kind 
to you when you were our prisoners.” 

‘‘Indeed we all shall,” I replied. “I hope, indeed, whenever 
Frenchmen fall into the hands of the English, that my countrymen 
will always treat them with kindness and consideration. ” 

“ That is good; that is the right thing,” said the mate. ‘‘If go 
to war we must, we need not make it more barbarous than it must 
be of necessity. ” 

I was surprised to find these expressions proceeding from the 
mouth of a privateer’s-man. However, I believe that there were 
not many people of his class like him. I certainly hoped that I 
might have an opportunity of showing him that I meant what I 
said, and that we should very soon again change our relative posi- 
tions. 

Mr. Randolph, and La Motte, and the rest of the English prison- 
ers, soon afterward came on deck, and eagerly watched with me 
the progress of the stranger. There seemed to us very little doubt 
that she would cut us off before we could possibly reach St. Malo. 

As the day drew on, however, the weather gave signs of chang- 
ing. The wind, which had been blowing steadily from the north- 
ward, chopped round to the north-west, and then to the westward, 
growing stronger and stronger, and very quickly kicking up an 
ugly sea, while thick rain began to fall, increasing every instant in 
density. 

We Englishmen looked at each other, and as the rain fell thicker, 
so did our countenances fall lower and lower. The change of wind 
placed the lugger and her prize to windward, and the stranger far 
away to leeward, the thick rain almost shutting her out from sight. 

The Frenchmen rubbed their hands, and blessed the wind and 
the rain, and commiserated us on our prospects of being carried to 
France. All we could hope was, that it would clear up again be- 
fore the evening, and that the wind would shift back into its old 
quarter. 

We waited in vain for the change. Hour after hour passed by. 
The wind blew great guns and small arms, and the rain came down 
in dense masses, which completely shut out the stranger from our 
sight. I thought that probably the Frenchmen would alter their 
course, but we stood steadily on, only keeping up a little to be well 
to windward of our port, in case the wind should veer round more 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


201 


to the north-west. Evening at length came. It grew darker and 
darker; and with heavy hearts we prisoners had to abandon all 
hopes of rescue. 

The night passed away, while it was blowing and raining all the 
time till near the morning. As soon as it was daylight I hurried 
on deck. The horizon was clear. With what eagerness I looked 
around; not a sail was in sight! The English ship, if such she was, 
finding herself so far to leeward, had probably abandoned all hope 
of overtaking us. 

At length the coast of France hove in sight. We looked at it as 
likely to prove our home for many a weary day. It was past noon 
when we anchored in the harbor of St. Malo, and I could not be sur- 
prised at the exultation of the Frenchmen, when they found them- 
selves surrounded by no less than five prizes, which they had taken 
in the course of two or three weeks. 

Their friends in numbers came off to welcome them, and brought 
all sorts of wines and spirits, and provisions from the shore, far 
more indeed than the crew could by possibility consume. The wine 
and spirits, however, seemed to be most welcome, and the crew, 
having an abundance of wherewithal to carouse, sat down to make 
themselves happy. Never have I heard a set of human beings jab- 
ber away at the rate they did; they laughed, and sung, and pledged 
each other without cessation. 

La Motte, who was listening to them, told me that they were 
boasting of all the deeds they had done, or would do, or had heard 
of being done, till they were satisfied that their nation was not only 
Ihe greatest, the richest, the wisest, the most happy in the world, 
but that none ever had or would come up to her. 

Just before dark, the captain took Mr. Randolph on shore; but 
he observed that he could not take us there, and that we must wait 
on board till the following morning. 

The first mate came up to La Motte and me, and observed that he 
should have to go on shore likewise. ‘ ‘ If you go, remember that 
you will have to be shut up in a prison, and that you will not find 
very pleasant,” he remarked, significantly. He looked aft as he 
spoke, when we observed hanging on at the stern one of the boats 
belonging to the prize. “ Wise men know how to take a hint. All 
I can say is, that I feel most kindly disposed toward you; and if 
you land in France I will do my best to ameliorate your condition, 
but that will be but little, remember.” 

We thanked him cordially for his kindness, and then he called 
the only two sober men of the crew, and ordered them to pull him 


202 


WILL- WEATHERHELM. 


on shore in another boat. Of course there was not the slightest 
doubt as to what he meant. The means of escape were offered us. The 
only question remaining was how to make use of them. The boat 
hanging on astern was about twenty-five feet long. I had often ex- 
amined her on board the “ Mouche. ,! She was in good condition, 
and not a bad sea-boat, I judged from her appearance. Her sails 
and oars were in her, and I had little doubt that our good friend the 
mate had had them put into her on purpose to aid us. Thus far, 
all was well, but we had many difficulties still to contend with. 
Our next care was to ascertain who would accompany us in our 
adventure. 

There were altogether fifteen prisoners remaining on board besides 
ourselves. I knew that I could depend on Andrews, and so I could 
on Jones. They both eagerly jumped at our proposal, and ex- 
pressed themselves ready to run all risks for the sake of reaching 
England. Their only regret was, that Mr. Randolph was not on 
board to accompany us. We concluded that the captain had been 
compelled to take him on shore, as English officers were always 
looked on as great prizes by the French, and he might have got into 
trouble had he escaped. 

We went quietly round among all the prisoners, and invited them 
one by one to join us, with the exception of three or four, who had 
accepted the invitations of the Frenchmen to drink with them, and 
had now as little sense remaining in their heads as their hosts. 

When La Motte and I went up to them to see what could be done 
they could only exclaim, holding up their glasses, “ Come here, old 
fellows! The Frenchmen’s liquor is good, and they are jolly cocks, 
and we never wish for better companions. Come now, take a glass, 
you’ll not taste finer anywhere.” 

When we declined joining them they jeered and laughed at us, 
and called us milksops, so that we soon saw that they would in all 
probability betray us if we attempted to induce them to join us. 

Two men, who were sober, declined, saying that they would 
rather go to a French prison than trust themselves in a small open 
boat in mid- winter in the Channel. As they were somewhat sickly, 
perhaps they were right in their decision. They promised, how- 
ever, to help us as far as they were able, and vowed that they 
would rather die than betray us. 

The carouse of the Frenchmen continued. First, they made long 
speeches about liberty, equality, and fraternity, and then they sung 
till they were hoarse, and then they began hugging each other, and 
shrieking, and lastly, they got up and danced and skipped and 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


203 


frisked about, till tripping up their heels they toppled down on deck, 
and lay sprawling about unable to move. Now and then one tried 
to rise, but all he could do was to reach a bottle, and to pour a little 
more liquor down his throat, which soon finished him off complete- 
ly, and he, like the rest, lay utterly senseless and inanimate. 

It was now night, and time to make our preparations. The 
privateer’s men’s friends had brought on board a large supply of 
provisions. These we set to work to collect, and we calculated that 
we should have enough to last us for several days. But without 
water we could not venture to sea. There was none on deck, so we 
had to grope about below to find it. Great indeed was our satisfac- 
tion, therefore, when we suddenly came upon two breakers, each 
holding nifie or ten gallons, and full of water. We soon had them 
up on deck, and rolled them to the side, ready to be lowered into 
the boat. We now hauled her up alongside, and got everything we 
had collected stowed away in her. 

“ But we must not go without a compass,” said La Molte, “ I re- 
member seeing one in the captain’s cabin. I am sure that he would 
let us have it. Perhaps he has left it out on purpose.” 

Such we had every reason to believe was the case, for in a minute 
, La Motte returned bringing a well-fitted boat compass, which was 
just suited for our purpose. We also got hold of a lantern and a 
quantity of candles, and we threw as many great- coats and blankets 
into the boat as we could collect, for it was bitterly cold, and we 
had reason to dread its effects more than anything else. 

We should have started at once, but La Motte told us that he had 
overheard some of the Frenchmen talking of a guard-boat which 
came round the harbor once, at all events, during the night, some- 
where about ten o’clock, and that it would be wiser in us to wait 
till she had gone by. Accordingly we veered our boat astern, and 
agreed to wait till then. 

We all went below and lay down, hoping to get a little sleep and 
rest before it was time to start. La Motte volunteered to remain on 
deck till the guard-boat came round, and as he spoke French like a 
Frenchman, he said that he should lead the officers to suppose that 
all the prisoners had gone on shore, and that might prevent them 
from keeping any strict watch on the lugger. He told me also that 
he was very anxious on another account. He had observed a fort 
which we should have to pass close by on our starboard-hand on 
going out. The sentry was certain to hail us, and unless we could 
give the password and countersign, he would, as in duty bound, 
fire at us, and then give notice of our escape. In all probability, 


204 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


boats would be sent in pursuit of us, and we should be recaptured. 
This suggestion came like a blow, sufficient to upset all our hopes 
of escaping. 

“ Well,” observed La Motte, “ there is only one thing to be done. 
I must find out the watchword and countersign. There is some 
risk, but it must be run.” 

There was a small boat, a dinghy, belonging to the lugger, which 
was sometimes carried aft, but she was now placed inside the long- 
boat on deck. She was so light that two men could easily lift her. 
La Motte said he must have her in the water, and that he would go 
on shore and steal up to where any sentinels were stationed, and 
that he would listen when the patrols came round to relieve them. 
He should thus be certain to obtain the information he required. 
Dangerous as I thought the adventure, of course I would not hinder 
him from going, as, could I have spoken French, I would have 
gone myself. Accordingly I helped him to get the dinghy into the 
water, which we did without any noise. “ Now, Weatherhelm, my 
dear fellow, ' ’ said he, “go and lie down and wait patiently till I 
come back; a little sleep will do you good — you want it.” 

I thanked him cordially, and wrung his hand as he stepped into 
the punt, for my heart misgave me that I should never see him 
again. As to going to sleep, that was, I felt, out of the question; I 
could scarcely bring myself to lie down. I watched the little boat 
with intense anxiety as he pulled away toward the shore. I felt 
much for him, but I must confess that for my own sake I was still 
more anxious for his success; I was indeed enduring a bitter trial. 
May none of those who read my history have to go through the 
same! The thought of being a second time disappointed in my 
hopes of returning home, and of learning the fate of my beloved 
wife, was more than I could bear. My movements showed the 
agitation of my mind. Sometimes I sat down on a gun; then I rose 
and walked the deck; then I went below and threw myself on a 
locker in the cabin; but I was quickly on deck again looking out 
for La Motte. Then I recollected that he was not at all likely to re- 
turn so soon, so I once more went below to try and warm my chilled 
limbs. 

Another fear assailed me. I was afraid that if we delayed, some 
of the drunken Frenchmen might recover from their stupor and find 
out our project. All of a sudden another idea occurred to me — if we 
got the watchword, could we not carry the lugger and all her sense- 
less crew away together? JVe might handcuff them all without the 
slightest difficulty. I own that for the moment I forgot how un- 


WILL WEATHJERHELM. 


205 


grateful such an act would be to her captain and mate, who had 
treated us so kindly. While I was thinking on the subject, An- 
drews woke up and looked about him. 

“ Is it time yet for us to be off?” he asked, in a whisper. 

“ No, not yet. But I say, Andrews, are you ready to carry a bold 
project into execution?” I asked in a low voice. I then told him 
what I had thought of. He jumped at the idea. 

“With all my heart!” he answered. “Nothing I should like 
better. I hate these Frenchmen, and as for the drunken rascals on 
board, we can soon settle them; if they are likely’to be troublesome, 
as soon as we get clear of the harbor, we may lieave them all over- 
board.” 

“ What are you thinking about?” I exclaimed, horrified at the 
cold-blooded way in which he spoke of murdering so many of our 
fellow-creatures. Suddenly, the proposal I had made burst on me 
in its true light. Of what black ingratitude should we have been 
guilty in depriving the men who had trusted us, of their property; 
and then, had we followed the suggestion offered by Andrews, of de- 
stroying in cold blood a number of our fellow-men, who at all events 
had committed no crime against us! 

“No, Andrews, no!” I answeied, after a little reflection; “I 
would rather remain a prisoner than run away with the lugger, 
even if we could accomplish the undertaking; much less would I 
injure any of the poor fellows lemaining on boaid. Just consider, 
what should we say if a set of Frenchmen tieated us in that way?” 

“ Anything is lawful in war,” he answered, not agreeing with my 
notion. “ The Frenchmen should have kept a better look-out after 
us.” 

“You forget that the captain and mate left us intentionally with 
the means of escape at our disposal, and which they clearly pointed 
out to us. I am sorry that I even thought of carrying off the lug- 
ger, and much more that I mentioned it to you.” 

At length I brought Andrews round to see the proposal in the 
light I did, and he promised not to mention it to any one else. Thus 
conversing, the time passed by much more rapidly than it had done 
when I was left to my own thoughts. I felt sure it must be getting 
late. I looked at my watch; it was nearly ten o’clock, the hour at 
which La Motte had told me the guard-boat made her rounds. I 
became very anxious about him; I felt almost sure that he must have 
been seized, and if so he ran a great risk of being considered a spy, 
in which case he would have been immediately shot. We, however, 
could do nothing; we must sit still and wait. There is no greater 


WILL WEATHERIIELM. 


20ti 

trial for men. than this. If we had had any work to do, we could 
have borne it much belter. It wanted but ten minutes to ten. 

“Some accident must have befallen your old shipmate, ” said 
Andrews; “ if he does not come back, we must make the attempt 
without him. I marked well the entrance of the harbor. If we 
muffle our oars, and keep close under the fort, we may slip out with- 
out being observed. Are you inclined to make the attempt?” 

“ Certainly,” I answered; “ I would run any risk to be free. Ah! 
what is that? I saw something moving on the water. It is the 
guard-boat coming. What shall we reply?” 

“We had better slip down below, and let them hail us till they 
are hoarse,” replied Andrews. “ But no; that is not the guard-boat; 
it is the dinghy.” 

In another instant La Motte was alongside. He sprung on board. 
“ I have it!” he exclaimed; “ but I have had a sharp run for it, and 
was very nearly taken. Even now I am not certain that I am not 
pursued. I have been thinking of an explanation to give for being 
on shore, if I am found out. I must pass for a Frenchman belong- 
ing to the lugger. Do you two go below, and pretend to be drunk, 
or asleep, like the rest. There will be no fear then. I will call you 
as soon as the guard-boat has gone away. We must all then be 
ready to start in a moment.” 

Andrews and I immediately followed La Motte’s directions, and 
going below' threw ourselves on the lockers. I heard La Motte’s 
measured tread overhead, as if he was walking the deck as officer of 
the watch. I listened for every sound. Presently I heard him re- 
ply in a clear, sharp voice, apparently to a hail given from a boat 
at a little distance. There could be no doubt that it was the guard- 
boat. The answer satisfied the officers. Another minute elapsed, 
and La Motte sprung down below. “ It is all right, Weatherhelm,” 
he whispered; - “ the guard-boat is away, and now is our time to be 
off. Call up the other men.” 

It was quickly done, and all those who had resolved to venture on 
the undertaking were speedily on deck. We hauled up the boat, 
and silently took our seats on the thwarts. I pulled the after oar; 
La Motte steered and acted as captain; indeed, had it not been for 
him, we could not have made the attempt. It was a hazardous affair, 
for we might have to encounter another guard-boat, and we had to 
pass among a number of vessels on our way to the mouth of the 
harbor. 

“ If we are seen, I hope that we may be mistaken for the guard- 
boat,” said La Motte, as we were preparing to shove off. “ Now, 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


207 


my lads, shove off, and try and row as much like Frenchmen as you 
can.” 

The advice was not unnecessary, for the steady, measured pull of 
English men-of -war’s men would have inevitably betrayed us. The 
night was dark, but not sufficiently so to prevent us from distin- 
guishing the outline of the harbor. Away we pulled, rapidly but 
with irregular slrokes. We had to pass close to several privateers, 
but their crews were either on shore or drunk, and no notice was 
taken of us. 

More than once it occurred to me, that although we should not 
have wished to run off with the vessel of the people who had treated 
us so well, yet that we might be able successfuly to cut out one of 
the other craft brought up nearer the mouth of the harbor; but I 
reflected that the experiment would be too hazardous. Should we 
fail, we should in all probability lose our lives; as it was, we might 
well be contented with the advantages we possessed. We had a 
good boat, though she was small, an ample supply of provisions, fine 
weather, and a fair wind from the southward. 

We were about half-way down the harbor, when the sound of 
oars reached our ears. A large ship was near us; we paddled softly 
in, and lay close alongside under the shelter of her dark shadow. 
Not a sound was heard aboard her; every one was asleep. The noise 
of oars drew near; I trembled, lest some of her crew might be re- 
turning on board, and if they discovered us, all would be lost. We 
listened breathlessly; the sound of the oars passed by; it was the 
guard-boat going her rounds. Had we continued pulling a minute 
longer, we should have been discovered. I looked up as we lay on 
our oars; the sky was clear, the stars were twinkling brightly over- 
head; there seemed every probability of the fine weather continuing. 
In a couple of days at most we might hope once more to tread our 
native shores, and be free to go where we might wish. 

I need scarcely repeat all the anxious thoughts which crowded on 
my mind; the joy, the happiness unspeakable I anticipated. I 
would not, I dared not, dwell on the reverse. The sound of the 
oars was lost in the distance. La Motte gave a sign to us to shove 
off, and letting our oars glide into the water, we again continued 
our course. Our hearts beat quick as We approached the fort. The 
sharp tone of the sentry’s challenge rang on our ears as he saw us 
passing. “Liberie!” answered La Motte promptly; another ques- 
tion was asked. “ Victoire!” he replied. “ We are ordered out by 
the captain of the port with a dispatch to a vessel in the offing; I 
know no more.” 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


208 

“ C’esl bien! you may pass,” said an officer, whom the sentry’s 
voice had summoned from the guard-room. 

We puiled on as before; away we glided; now we hoisted our sail. 
Gradually the fort was concealed by the darkness from our sight. 
We were free! 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Happy prospect of reaching England— Weather changes— Heavy gale— Expect 
to be lost— Days and nights of suffering— Our greatest comfort— A ship in 
sight— Disappointed again— Another ship appears— Our hopes and fears— A 
snow-storm— Get on board an emigrant ship— Carried far away from home— 
Death of shipmates. 

Once clear of the harbor, without any sail in sight, we all gladly 
loosened our tongues. In spite of the cold of a winter’s night, our 
spirits rose, and all hands laughed and chatted, and talked of what 
they would do when they got on shore. We had no necessity to 
look at our compass, for the stars enabled us to steer a course for the 
northward. 

With the wind as it was, we thought that we should probably 
make the land somewhere about the Dorsetshire coast, should we 
not in the meantime fall in with any homeward-bound ship. 

From the position of St. Malo on the coast of France, far down in 
the deep bay or bight in which is found the islands of Jersey and 
Guernsey, it will be seen that we had a long voyage before us to 
perform in an open boat of so small a size and in the middle of win- 
ter. However, not one of us thought about that. By daylight we 
had made such progress that we were completely out of sight of 
» land. A difference of opinion now arose among us. La Motte very 
naturally wished to put into Guernsey. It was his own country; he 
knew it well, and he undertook to pilot us in there! Most of the 
men were anxious, as the breeze was fair, to stand on at once for 
the coast of England. 

“ Now, mates,” said he, “ just listen to what I have to say. If 
the wind continues fair, and we do not fall in with an enemy’s 
cruiser, all well and good, we may hit some harbor, or we may beach 
the boat with safety, and get on shore; but now just look at the 
other side of the question. We may be picked up by an enemy, and 
as we are in a French boat with the name of her port on her stern, 
we shall be sent back from whence we have come, and be much 
worse off than if we had remained aboard the lugger. That’s one 
thing which may occur; or the wind may change, and a gale spring 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


209 


up, and instead of making the English coast in a couple or three 
days, as you expect, we may he swamped, or he knocked about for 
a week or ten days, and perhaps after all he driven hack on to the 
coast of France. Now, what I say is this? Here is Guernsey on 
our starboard bow. We may he there by to-morrow morning at 
furthest. I’ve friends who’ll treat you "kindly. You’d have time 
to look about you, and you’ll have no fear of being pressed; whereas 
if you land in England, after all, before you get to your homes you 
may find yourselves in the hands of a press-gang, and once more 
aboard a man-of-war. ’ ’ 

I thought that there was so much reason in what La Motte urged, 
that, anxious as I was to be in England, I could not help siding 
with him. All the rest of the men were, however, dead against us. 
They had talked so much of the delights of being on shore, that, in 
spite of all risks, they were unwilling that any delay should occur. 

"‘No, no; hurrah for Old England!” they cried. “As long as 
the breeze holds, let us stand on. We are not likely to fall in with 
an enemy. If we see a stranger which looks suspicious, we’ll douse 
sail, and let her pass by. The weather, too, promises to be fine. 
Why think of evils which may never occur?” 

Perhaps La Motte and I did not resist as much as we might have 
done. At all events, we yielded to the wishes of the rest, and stood 
on. The day passed away pleasantly enough. The sun came out 
and shone brightly, and for the time of the year it was tolerably 
warm; so that we all kept our spirits up, and, congratulating our- 
selves on our good fortune, did not think of coming disaster. 

As is usual on such occasions, we soon got to telling the various 
adventures we had met with in our past lives. I have not here time 
to describe them, but I remember one remarkable thing was, that 
nearly all had been wrecked just as often as I had. Instead of look- 
ing at such disasters as punishments, they all agreed that they ought 
to consider themselves very fortunate in escaping, instead of losing 
their lives, as had so many of their shipmates. I could not help 
thinking the same thing, and I now began to be more convinced 
than ever that I was mistaken in my youthful idea that a curse hung 
over us. When I came to consider the matter, I perceived that I 
had brought on myself nearly all the misfortunes which had hap- 
pened to me, or they could be very clearly traced to ordinary causes, 
which had affected in most instances others as well as myself. I 
talked the subject over with La Motte, who was a right-thinking 
man, and not without. some wit. 

“ I perfectly agree with you, Weatherhelm,” said he. “ It is, in 


210 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


my opinion, far better to be wrecked a dozen times than drowned 
once, especially if you escape the twelfth time and live happy ever 
afterward. I hope sincerely that your disasters have now come to 
an end. You seem to have suffered a good many since we parted. ” 

“ I have enjoyed some very great blessings, too,” I answered. “ I 
am sure I ought not to co'mplain.” 

“ That is just the sentiment I like to hear,” he observed. “ Peo- 
ple think that they are to have all the plums and suet, and none of 
the hard dough, which mak«s up the pudding of life. We ought to 
be contented to take the two together — the sweets and the bitter, the 
rough and the smooth. That is what I have done, and I have saved 
myself a great deal of ..disappointment by not expecting more than I 
was likely to get.” 

I have often thought since of La Motte’s practical philosophy. 

We had eveiy onC of us soon need of all the courage and resigna- 
tion we possessed. The wind, which had been steady all the day, 
began toward the afternoon to chop about. First it flew round to 
the north-east and blew pretty hard, and we none of us liked the 
look of the weather. Still we hoped that it might not grow worse. 
We took a reef in the mainsail, and brought the boat close up to the 
wind. 

Before long, however, it came on to blow still harder, and the sea 
got up very much, and the spray came flying over us, and now and 
then a sea broke on board, and we had to keep a couple of hands 
hailing to prevent the boat from filling. Night was coming on; we 
close-reefed the mainsail, and took a reef in the foresail, and con- 
tinued our course close-hauled. By degrees the wind shifted round 
to the north-nortli-east, and though close-hauled as we lay, we were 
fully four points off our course, and if it held on that way, it seemed 
a chance even if we should fetch the coast of Cornwall. Night 
was coming on, but there was no improvement in the weather. 

Having taken a cheerless supper, for our spirits had sunk very 
low, we sat still in our places without speaking. The rain came 
down on us and wetted us through and chilled us to the bones, and 
the weather grew thicker and thicker. Sometimes we could scarcely 
see a yard ahead, and we ran a great risk of being run down b} r a 
vessel, or of running into one. Still we could do nothing further to 
help ourselves. 

Away we flew into the pitchy darkness, the seas hissing and roar- 
ing around us, the boat tumbling and tossing about, now in the 
trough of a sea, now on the summit, surrounded by dense masses of 
foam, which seemed at times completely to wrap us up — the wind 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


211 


howling, and the rain coming down in torrents, sufficient of itself 
to swamp the bsat. 

Either La Motte or Andrews or I sat at the helm, and very nice 
steering it required to keep the boat from swamping. We lighted 
the binnacle lamp to enable us to keep as near as we could to our 
proper course. We had also our lantern ready to show as a signal 
in case we were able to make out any vessel approaching us. 

I had been in many perils, as I have described, but none of them 
seemed greater than those I went through on that night. Often I 
thought that the boat could not possibly swim another minute. 
Often she was almost gunwale under before we could luff up in time 
to ease her. Now a huge black sea came roaring up, which I 
thought must come down and swamp us; but it broke just before it 
reached the boat, and merely sent the foam flying over our heads. 
Thus hour after hour passed slowly away. Some of the men began 
to grumble, and to blame themselves for their folly in leaving the 
privateer. 

Andrews declared that it would have been better if we had cut 
out a vessel, as at all events we should have been on board a craft 
fit to combat the gale. La Motte, with more justice, remarked, that 
it was a pity they had not consented to follow his suggestion, and to 
run for Guernsey while we could have done so. 

“ But why not run there now?” asked some one. 

Because the whole island is surrounded by rocks, and it would 
be next to a miracle if we escaped running on them,” he answered. 
“Our only course now is to stand on. Perhaps the wind will once 
more shift, and we may be able, after all, to keep our course for 
England. ’ ’ 

Never have I felt the hours draw on so slowly as they did during 
that dreadful night. Still no new hour brought any change for the 
better. I thought the morning never would come. As for sleep, 
that was out of the question, nor did any of us feel an inclination 
for food. I believe that not one of the party ever expected to see 
the sun rise again to cheer our hearts. 

Yet, in spite of our apprehensions, the little boat behaved beauti- 
fully. Each sea, as it came roaring up, she surmounted like a wild 
fowl, and though down she plunged into the trough, it was but to 
rise again in triumph to the summit. 

At length the rain ceased, but it blew as hard as ever. I was 
looking eastward, when a pale, thin line appeared in the sky,- jusl 
above the horizon. It grew broader and broader, and brighter and 
brighter, and we knew it was dawn. Those who had thought that 


212 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


they should never again see the sun rise, now felt that they ought 
not to have desponded. First, more cold, silvery lines appeared in 
the sky, and then yellow lines, which warmed into orange, and pink, 
and red; and a small portion of the sun himself broke forth between 
the clouds, and sent a bright beam of glittering gold across the 
dancing waves, but quickly again he was hidden above the leaden 
canopy which hung over us. 

Few of us had ever passed a more trying night, and we all felt 
grateful for the mercy which had been shown us, and, as if by 
common agreement, we all with one accord offered up our thanks to 
Heaven, and prayed that we might yet further be preserved through 
the dangers which surrounded us. Wild and careless as sailors too 
often are, there are times when they exhibit a true and unaffected 
piety, and when they are not ashamed of exhibiting their feelings to 
tlieir fellow-men. This was one of those occasions. 

We were all aware that we had passed through a night of great 
peril, and we knew that we had, in all probability, many more 
dangers to go through, in which all our knowledge, and strength, 
and bravery could avail us nothing. Our weakness and helpless- 
ness was thus forcibly brought home to us— our own utter insuffi- 
ciency to help ourselves. It is this feeling, which every seaman 
must at times have to experience, which has so beneficial an effect 
on him in turning his heart to God, in making him, in spite of 
himself, acknowledge the superintending care of the Creator. 

As daylight came on we looked round the horizon, more especial- 
ly to the southward, but not a sail was in sight. We felt sure that, 
ai all events, we were not pursued. Had the wind continued from 
the southward we might have fallen in with some homeward-bound 
ship, but it was not likely that we should now meet with one. 
Having assured ourselves that no change was likely to take place 
immediately in our prospects, we served out our frugal breakfast. 

La Motte and I agreed that it would be wiser at once to put our- 
selves on short allowance, for we could not tell how long we might 
be kept out. To this all the rest cheerfully assented. I had for 
some time been watching the sky to the eastward. When the 
sun rose the wind went down, but I did not like a wide break in the 
clouds which suddenly appeared. The rent I had observed grew 
larger and larger, till the whole eastern sky was bright and clear. 

I felt too sure that it betokened an easterly gale. I pointed out what 
I had observed to La Motte. He was of my opinion. 

We were not mistaken. Down it came before long, strong and 
bitterly cold, tearing up the surface of the sea, and sending the foam 


WILL WEA THERE ELM. 


213 


flying like vast snowdrifts before it. We were almost frozen with 
the cold and wet. We wrapped ourselves up as best we could in our 
blankets and greatcoats, but even with this aid we were well-nigh 
perished. We had no means of lighting a fire and warming up 
anything by which we might restore circulation. The gale in- 
creased. Away the boat flew before it, out to sea, away from land, 
away from all help. 

Bitter was our disappointment. How could we hope to get back? 
how obtain relief? Our condition was bad, indeed. Some of the 
men had been expressing a wish to endeavor to reach Guernsey. 
They now, with reproaches on themselves, acknowledged their folly 
in not having, when at the proper time, accepted La Motte’s offer to 
take them there. Fiercer and fiercer blew the easterly gale, every 
cloud disappeared, but yet the sky was not bright, nor did the rays 
of the sun give any warmth. A gauze-like veil overspread the sky, 
while we were surrounded by a thin mist of spray, which together 
completely prevented the sun’s beams from reaching us. 

Our utmost exertions were required to keep the boat before the 
sea, and to bale out the water which continually washed into her. 
Those of us who were not thus actively employed sat with our 
greatcoats and blankets huddled up round us, the pictures of mis- 
ery. Want of sleep and warm food made us feel the cold still more 
severely, and, in spite of our wraps, we were chilled to the very 
bones. Our teeth chattered and our limbs shook as if we had 
been afflicted with the ague. We couid no longer keep up our 
spirits by conversation. What possible grounds had we for hope. 
All we could expect was to run on till the boat swamped, or till one 
after the other of us dropped off and died from cold, starvation,, 
and exhaustion. 

La Motte struggled on bravely to prevent himself from giving in, 
while at the same time he exerted himself to keep up the spirits of 
the rest. His example inspired me to arouse myself, and I en- 
deavored to aid him in encouraging our companions. 

“ Hurrah, my lads!” he suddenly shouted. “ As long as there’s 
life there’s hope — remember that. Death’s door is not open yet. 
Don’t be knocking to get in before you are invited. What are we 
afraid of? We have a tight boat under us, and provisions enough 
to last us for several days to come. We had got a long way to the 
nor’ard before this easterly gale sprung up, and we can’t be so very 
far off the Land’s End or the Scilly Islands. This sort of gale never 
lasts long. It will blow itself out in a day or two, and then we 
may haul up and stand in for the land. Many men have been in a 


214 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


far worse state than that we are in, and have got well out of it. 
Why should we fancy that we are going to be lost? Cheer up, I 
say. Can any of you sing? Andrews, you can. Come, out with 
a song, lad. You shake your head. Come, I’ll help you.” And, 
with a voice which sounded full and clear amid the hissing roar of 
the gale, La Motte struck up a cheering, merry song, well calculated 
to arouse even the most apathetic from the lethargy into which they 
were sinking. 

Andrews, inspired by the strains, followed his example, as did 
several other of the men, and away we flew over the waves, singing 
cheerfully, with, as it were, the jaws of death gaping wide on either 
side to catch us. 

Now La Motte sung a more solemn strain; it was a psalm. All 
of us joined heartily in it. We prayed that God would protect us 
amid the dangers which surrounded us, and then we expressed our 
full confidence in His mercy and goodness. That did us more good 
than the lighter songs. It was certainly more in accordance with 
our feelings; yet, perhaps, La Motte took the best means for arous- 
ing the people from the lethargy which was overpowering them. 

It has often struck me that people, when they are singing psalms, 
are too apt to forget that they are praying, or praising God, or return 
ing thanks for mercies received. They seem to forget the meaning 
of the words, and to think only of the music. They do not sing 
sufficiently with their hearts. That was not the case with us in that 
storm-driven boat. The music was, I dare say, very imperfect, but 
never did men enter more heartily into Ihe spirit of the psalm than 
did we on that occasion. 

Andrews and another man belonged to Cornwall, and had in their 
youth been accustomed to sing psalms in the congregations of their 
people, as had two or three of the other men, though for many a 
long year of their sea life the custom had been sadly neglected. 
Now, when they felt conscious that they might never have an op 
portunity of again singing while alive, they joined with their whole 
heart and soul in the work. Thus the day passed away. 

The night was approaching. We had reason to dread it as much 
as we had the previous one, except that the sky being clear, there 
was more light to enable us to avoid any danger in our course. We 
took a frugal supper and a cup of cold water, all we dared consume 
of our scanty stores. Drowsiness now began to overcome most of 
us. I felt myself capable of keeping awake better than any of the 
rest, for I saw that even La Motte was giving way. I therefore 
urged him to let me take the helm while he lay down. To this he 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


215 


consented. Andrews and I wrapped him up in a blanket, and in 
an instant he was fast asleep, showing how much self-command he 
must have exercised to keep awake at his post. 

In the meantime, while two men continued baling and one kept a 
look-out ahead, the rest stretched their limbs as well as they could 
along the thwarts of the boat and went to sleep. My fear was that 
they might not be able again to arouse themselves. Strange, in 
deed, were my feelings as I sat in the stern of the boat while she 
flew hissing along over the foaming waves and plunging into the 
dark unknown. I looked up into the clear sky, glittering with in- 
numerable stars, and my mind wandered from the present world to 
the wonders of eternity, which the scene I gazed on seemed to pict- 
ure forth. I forcibly felt the insufficiency of this world to satisfy 
to the full the aspirations of man’s soul; and the reality of the life 
to come, and all that that life will have to show, impressed itself 
more vividly on my mind than it had ever before done. The glories 
of the eternal future put to flight all fears for the present_perishable 
body. 

Still, I did not neglect my duty to my. companions. I did my 
best to keep my mates of the watch awake. I watched the seas as 
they came rolling up on either side, so that I might keep the boat 
steadily before the wind. Thus the first watch passed by. I had 
not the heart to call La Motte. I told the other three men to arouse 
up their companions, and I resolvedf to keep awake for a couple of 
hours more. An hour after this it might have been, as I turned 
my head over my right shoulder, I caught sight of a huge towering 
mass close aboard, as it seemed. 

It was a large ship. On she came. I felt sure that our last mo- 
ments had arrived. There was no use shouting. The other men 
looked up, Terror kept them dumb. Had we indeed strained our 
voices till they cracked, no one would have heard us on board the 
ship. The dark pyramid of canvas seemed to reach up to the very 
clouds as she flew along, careering before the gale. 

In another moment I thought we should have been run down, and 
struggling under her vast keel, but my eye had deceived me. She 
dashed on; but instead of her stem sti iking us, her broadside ap- 
peared on our starboard hand. She was a line-of -battle ship of the 
largest class. Then, indeed, we found our voices and shouted, and 
perhaps the sentries or lookouts might have heard us; but away she 
rushed, like some monstrous phantom of a dream, and, mighty as 
she was, she quickly disappeared in the darkness ahead. Our com- 
panions, who had been awoke by our shouting, lifted up their 


216 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


heads, but as the ship passed by, lay them down again, probably 
under the belief that what they had seen was merely the effect of 
their imagination. * 

La Motte remained awake. “ What is the hour?” he asked. I 
told him. He therefore insisted on my taking his place, though I 
saw that he had some difficulty in unbending his limbs from the 
position they had assumed while he was sleeping. In an instant I 
•was asleep. It was daylight when I was once more aroused to take 
the helm. I found that there was a sail in sight, just rising above 
the horizon in the northeast, but we could not tell in what direction 
she was standing. 

The morning passed as had the former one. Our attention was 
kept awake by watching the progress of the strange sail. Her top- 
sails rose above the horizon, then her courses appeared, and it be- 
came very clear that she was sailing on a parallel course with us. 
At the distance we were from her we could not have been dis- 
tinguished from the white crest of a rising wave, so that we knew 
it was useless to hope for any assistance from her. Trying, indeed, 
it was to watch her gliding by us. Sometimes, when she rose on 
the top of a sea, and rolled from side to side as she ran before the 
wind, we could see her copper glancing brightly in the sunbeams, 
and could almost count her ports; yet we ourselves, we knew, 
could scarcely have been seen, even had any on board been looking 
out for us. On she went, her crew rejoicing in the fair breeze 
which was carrying them on to their destined port, while we were 
grieving at being driven away from ours. 

“ ‘ It’s an ill wind that blows no one good, ’ remember that, mates, ” 
said La Motte. “We may get the fair breeze before long.” 

Scarcely had the stranger disappeared in the western horizon 
when another sail rose in the east out of the water. We watched 
her even with greater eagerness than before. We fancied that we 
could not again be doomed to disappointment. 

“She is more, I think, to the southward than the other ship,” 
said Andrews. “ She’ll pass not far to the nor’ard of us, and can’t 
help seeing us.” 

I watched the new-comer attentively, but could not agree with 
Andrews. She appeared to me to be following exactly in the track 
of the former vessel. I earnestly hoped that I might be wrong in 
my opinion. The ship came on, rapidly overtaking us. We ought 
to have found cause for satisfaction when we thus had evidence 
that we could not be driving fast to the Eastward, and that when we 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


217 


came to haul up we should still find ourselves at no great distance 
from the Cornish coast. 

We waited, anxiously watching the ship; but all differences of 
opinion were soon settled when she appeared abeam, fully as far off 
as the former one. As our hopes had risen to a high pitch, so they 
now fell proportionately low. I began to fear that despondency 
would seize on all hands. The ship came up on our quarter; then 
she got abeam of us. We could see her as clearly as we had seen 
the former one. Some of our people shouted and waved their hats 
and caps. No answering signal was made. Again they shouted 
and shrieked out till they were hoarse. Their cries and their signals 
were equally vain. Those on board could probably scarcely have 
seen the boat even had they been looking for her, and of course our 
shouts would not have reached one-tenth part of the distance. The 
ship glided quickly on. She passed us altogether, and, like her 
predecessor, disappeared in the western horizon. As she was leav- 
ing us, some of the men lost all command of their feelings and 
broke forth into imprecations loud and deep, and abused the ship 
and all on board her, as if they were to blame for not having seen 
us. I saw that in their present state of mind there would be n© use 
finding fault with them, so I tried to cheer them up. 

“Never mind, mates,” said I. “We should not have been 
much better off if we had got on board those ships. They are out- 
ward-bound, and must have carried us wherever they are going, 
and perhaps we might have had to go half way round the world 
before we could get home again. Let us wait till we sight a ship 
bound up Channel, and then if we miss her we may have reason to 
complain.” 

The remarks I made seemed to have some effect, for I heard no 
more complaints for some time. The day wore on and qo other 
vessel passed us. A change in the weather began to take place as 
the evening drew on. The wind lessened considerably during the 
afternoon, and as night approached it dropped into a perfect calm. 
Still there was a good deal of sea, and we had more difficulty than 
ever in keeping the boat from being swamped. We got the oars 
out, but we found that we had lost so much strength that we could 
scarcely use them. However, we managed to pull the boat’s head 
round, and once more endeavored to keep a course toward the north- 
east. 

Yet exert ourselves as we might, we found that we could only 
just keep the boat’s head to the sea, and that we were utterly unable 
to move her through the water. Gradually the sea went down, and 


218 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


at last most of the men declared that they neither would nor could 
pull any longer, and that we should gain nothing by it, as very 
likely the wind would shift again to its old quarter, and drive us 
back once more all the distance we had thus made good. 

La Motte and I endeavored to cheer them up, but all our attempts 
were vain. We saw ourselves that they were too likely to be right, 
and indeed we could not help sharing in their despondency I 
scarcely know how the night passed. It did pass, however, and so 
did another day. It was a perfect calm; we did not move. All 
our oars were laid in, and the men threw themselves along the 
thwarts, and declared that they should sleep there till some vessel 
should pass near enough to take us on board. 

Our stock of food had diminished very much, and I feared, on 
examining it, that we should scarcely have* enough to carry us to 
the English coast, even should a breeze spring up from the south- 
ward to help us along. No one now took much count of time. I 
fell asleep during the night, and so did La Motte, and I believe that 
no look-out was kept. We might have been run over without our 
making an attempt to save our lives. 

Another day broke at last. There was a light wind, but it was 
from the south-east. We hoisted our sail, though we had scarcely 
sufficient strength to get it up. However, we made but little prog- 
ress. I had fallen asleep, when I was aroused by the voices of my 
companions shouting as loudly as their strength would allow. The 
tones sounded strangely hollow and weak. I was scarcely aware 
that my own voice was much like theirs. 

I looked up to see what had produced these shouts. A large ship 
was bearing down toward us from the eastward. We had our 
whole sail set, and as the sun shone on it, I hoped that we might 
now possibly be seen. I was not so sanguine as some of the men 
had suddenly become on seeing the ship. I knew that too often a 
very slack look-out is kept on board many ships, and even then 
only just ahead to see that no vessel is in the way or likely to get 
there. The topsails and more than half the courses of the stranger 
had already appeared above the horizon. We rose them rapidly. 
By the time that we could see her hull I judged from the cut of her 
sails that she was certainly not an English ship. 

“ She is very like a French vessel,” observed La Motte, after 
watching her earnestly for some time/ “ Still she does not look like 
a ship of war, that is one comfort.” It was very certain, at all 
events, that she was standing directly for us, and that there, was no 
chance of our missing her. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


219 


“ Now, mates, just make up your minds what we shall do,” said 
La Motte; “ shall we go on board her whatever she is, or wherever 
she is going, or shall we remain in the boat and still endeavor to 
make the English coast?” 

“ Let us get clear of the boat!” exclaimed all the men; “ we may 
be knocking about here for some days to come, till we are all 
starved.” 

But we may obtain provisions from the ship sufficient to last us 
for a week, or more, perhaps,” observed La Motte; “she is evi- 
dently outward-bound, and many a long day may pass before we 
get back to England. ’ ’ 

“ Better that than being swamped or dying by inches,” was the 
answer. 

Finally, we discovered that all the men, including Andrews, had 
made up their minds to be quit of the boat at all events. La Motte 
told me that he knew how anxious I was to return home, and that 
he was ready, if I wished it, to remain with me in the boat, and to 
endeavor to make the shore. 

Sincerely I thanked him for this mark of his friendship and kind- 
ness. I debated in my mind whether I ought to accept his offer. 
In my anxiety to reach home I would have risked everything; still 
I thought that I ought not to expose the life of another person for 
my sake. How I might have decided I scarcely know. I suspect 
that I should have accepted his offer, but the matter was pretty well 
settled for us. 

Clouds had been gathering for some time in the sky, and while 
we were speaking thin flakes of snow began to fall, and continued 
increasing in density, so that we could scarcely see the approaching 
ship. We could not ascertain whether we had been seen by those 
un board before the snowstorm came on, and, if not, there was too 
great a probability that she would pass us. At all events, she was 
now completely hidden from our view. 

We calculated that if she kept oh the exact course she was on 
when last seen, we should be rather to the southward of her. We 
therefore got out our oars, and endeavored to pull up to her. Every 
one, however, was so weak, that it was with difficulty we could 
urge the boat through the water. Our last morsel of food had been 
consumed that morning; indeed, for the two previous days we had 
taken barely enough to support life. 

We looked about— we could not see the ship — we shouted at the 
top of our voices— all was silent— we pulled on— again we shouted, 
or rather shrieked out. A hail came from the eastward. It sounded 


220 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


loud and clear compared to the hollow tones of our voices. Pres- 
ently the dark hull and wide-spreading sails of a ship broke on our 
sight through the veil of falling snow, and directly afterward we 
dropped alongside her. 

She hailed us in German. I understood a little of the language, 
but La Motte spoke it perfectly. Great indeed was our satisfaction 
to find from this that she belonged to a friendly power. She ap- 
peared to have a great number of passengers on board, for they 
crowded the sides and gangway to look at us, and very miserable 
objects, I dare say, we appeared. 

Thinking probably that we were afraid of them they told us that 
the ship was the “ Nieuwland,” belonging to Bremen, bound for 
Baltimore, in the United States, and that the people we saw were 
Hanoverian emigrants. 

When we told them in return that we were Englishmen escaping 
from a French privateer which had captured us they warmly pressed 
us to come on board. When, however, we tried to get up to climb 
up the sides, we found that we could scarcely stand on our legs, 
much less help ourselves on deck. Three or four of our companions 
were so weak and ill that they could not rise even from the bottom 
of the boat, and it was sad to see them, as they lay on their backs, 
stretching out their hands for help to those who were looking down 
on them over the ship’s side. 

Certainly we all must have presented a perfect picture of woe and 
misery — half- frozen and famished — pale, haggard, shivering, with 
our beards unshaven, and our hair hanging lank and wet over our 
faces, our lips blue, our eyes bloodshot, our clothes dripping wiili 
moisture. Our condition was bad enough to excite the compassion 
of any one. 

The master and seamen of the ship and the emigrants evidently 
felt for us, by the exclamations we heard them utter. They quickly 
fitted slings, which were lowered to hoist us up, and the seamen 
came into the boat to help us. One after the other we were con- 
veyed on board, and at once carried below. Hot one of us could 
have stood, had it been to save our lives. 

I felt grateful for the looks of pity which were cast on us as we 
were lifted along the deck, while many of the emigrants volunteered 
to give up their berths. I remember how delightful I felt it to find 
myself stripped of my damp clothing, lying between dry blankets, 
with a bottle of hot water at my feet and another on my chest, while 
kind-hearted people were rubbing my limbs to restore circulation. 
It was some time, however, before anything like the proper amount 


WILL WEATIIERHELM. 


221 


of heat came back to my chilled frame. Then some warm drink 
was given me, and I fell into a deep.slumber. 

I believe that I slept nearly twenty-four hours on a stretch with- 
out once waking. At last, when I opened my eyes, daylight was 
streaming down on me through the open hatchway. The doctor 
came and felt my pulse. He spoke a little English, and told me to 
keep up my spirits, and that I should do very well. Then some 
broth was brought me by one of the emigrants, and after I had 
taken it I felt very much better. I inquired after my companions. 

“ They are not all in as good case as you are,” said the doctor. 
“ Two poor fellows have died, and a third, I fear, will not be long 
with us.” 

“ Which of them have gone?” I asked. “ I trust the officer, La 
Motte, is doing well. ’ ’ 

“ He is weak, and suffers much, but still I have hopes that he may 
recover,” was the answer. 

I was very sad on hearing this, yet I felt what cause I had to be 
thankful that I had escaped with my life, and was not likely to 
suffer in my health, as was the case with some of my companions. 

With returning strength, however, came more forcibly on me the 
consciousness of the postponement once more of all my hopes of 
happiness. I had risked everything; I had gone through the most 
trying hardships to reach home, and now I found myself being car- 
ried away far from that home, without any immediate prospect of 
reaching it. I turned round in my berth and burst into tears. 

The kind-hearted German who was attending on me inquired, in 
his broken English, what was the matter. I felt that it would be a 
relief to me, and would gratify him, if I were to tell him my his- 
tory. He was much interested in it, and warmly sympathized with 
me. He did not consider my tears unmanly. I do not think they 
were, either. I was weak and ill, too. Perhaps otherwise, as is 
Ihe English custom, I should have kept my feelings and my history 
to myself. Yet I think that English habit of hiding our thoughts 
and feelings, shows a want of confidence in the sympathy and kind 
feeling of our fellow-men which is altogether wrong. Nothing 
could surpass the kindness and sympathy of my German friends, 
especially of Karl Smitz, the young man who attended on me. 

We had a fair breeze and fine weathei, so that in three days I was 
able to get out of my berth. My first visit was to La Motte. He 
was unable to move. With fear and trembling I looked at him, for 
he seemed to me sadly changed from what he had been when we 


222 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


left tlie lugger; I had not seen myself, and I was not aware how 
haggard and ill I even then appeared. 

He told me that he only felt weak and bruised, and that he had 
hopes he should soon be well. I found that three of our late com 
panions had been committed to the deep, and that a fourth was in a 
dying state. This made me feel still more anxious about La Motte. 
From our old friendship, now cemented by the hardships we had 
gone through together, I could not help regarding him with the 
affection of a brother. I sat by the side of his berth till the doctor 
came and told me I must go on deck, as fresh air was now the only 
medicine I required. 

The captain welcomed me on deck when I appeared in the kindest 
way, and said that he was glad to find even one of his guests on the 
fair road to recovery. He, it appeared, had heard my story, and he 
came up to me and told me that he had no doubt I was anxious to 
get to England, and that if we fell in with any homeward-bound 
ship, he would put me on board her. I told this to La Motte when 
I went below, and he said that if he had strength even to move he 
would accompany me. 

Two days after this I was sitting on a gun-carriage enjoying the 
fresh breeze, when there was a movement on deck among the crew 
and passengers and I saw four men coming up the main hatchway, 
bearing between them what I saw at once was a human form, 
wrapped up in a fold of canvas. It was placed on a plank near a 
port at the opposite side of the ship. A union-jack was thrown 
over it, and I guessed from that circumstance that the dead man 
was another of my companions. I called to Karl Smitz, who was 
passing. 

“ Ah! they did not know that you were on deck, or they would 
have told you before the poor fellow was brought up,” he observed. 
“ Yes, he was another of those we saved out of the boat. We are 
now going to bury him as we would wish to be buried ourselves.” 

Soon after this the captain came into the waist with a Lutheran 
prayer-book, from which, with an impressive voice, he read some 
prayers. Then both the seamen and emigrants — men, women, and 
children — stood round and burst forth into a hymn most sweet and 
melodious; first it was sad in the extreme, and then it rose by de- 
grees to tones of joy, as it pictured the spirit of the departed borne 
by angels into Abraham’s bosom; while another prayer was being 
uttered the body of my shipmate was launched into the deep. Thus 
four of us had been taken and six remained. 

I was long very anxious for La Motte; he, however, slowly re- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


22 3 


covered, and in about a fortnight was able to come on deck. By 
that time Andrews and the other men had recovered, and were able 
to do duty. We are all of us anxious to be of use, for no honest 
seaman, or any other true man for that matter, likes to eat the 
bread of idleness. The ship was rather weak-handed, and the cap- 
tain was very glad of our services. — 

La Motte and I consulted together, and we agreed that we ought 
to make him some recompense for the trouble and expense he had 
been at, and all the care he had taken of us. The other men agreed 
to what we proposed. We accordingly, when he was on deck one 
day, went up to him and told him how grateful we felt for his kind- 
ness, and begged him to accept our boat. He smiled at our warmth. 

“ Ho, indeed, my good men, I can accept nothing from you,” he 
answered; “ I have only done what is the duty of every seaman to 
do when he finds his fellow-men tossed about on the ocean in dis- 
tress. What was your lot may be mine another day;, and I should 
expect others to do for me what I have done for you. ’ ’ 

“ Well, sir,” said La Molte, “ we feel the truth of what you say. 
Unhappily, some seamen do not act as you have done; and there are 
wretches who will pass a ship in distress, and never attempt to re- 
lieve her. However, what I am going to say is this: our clothes are 
in a very bad condition, and if you will supply us we will consider 
them as payment for the boat.” 

This proposal pleased our kind captain, and he forthwith gave us 
a suit of clothes, and a warm cap, a pair of shoes, and a couple of 
shirts, out of his slop-chest. We were thus all of us able to put on 
a decent and comfortable appearance. I am very certain no good 
action ever goes unrewarded in one way or another, though, per- 
haps, through our blindness, we do not always find it out. 

A few days after this- a terrific gale sprung up. All hands were 
roused up in the middle watch to reel topsails. We Englishmen, 
hearing the cry and roar of the tempest which had suddenly struck 
the ship, sprung on deck. The crew were aloft in vain struggling 
with the bulging topsails. At that moment the foretopsail, with a 
report like thunder, blew out of the bolt-ropes, carrying with it two 
men off the lee yardarm. The poor fellows were sent far away to 
leeward into the boiling sea. 

Any attempt to help them was utterly hopeless; we heard their 
despairing shrieks, and for an instant saw their agonized counte- 
nances. as the ship swept by them, and all trace of them was lost. 
We hurried on to the main -topsail-yard just in time to save the 
people there from sharing the fate of their messmates. The courses 


224 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


were furled, the main-topsail closely reefed, and the ship flew on- 
\vard on her course. 


- CHAPTER XV. 

The emigrant ship and our kind captain— Get on board a homeward-bound 
ship— An unexpected encounter— My old captain— A converted man— A crip- 
pled ship— Land at Bermuda— Once more sail for England— Pressed again. 

The good ship ‘ f Nieuwland ” made rapid progress. Though I 
was flying away from home and all I longed to be with, yet any- 
thing was better than moving slowly. If we did not fall in with 
any ship in which I might return, I felt that the sooner I got to the 
end of the voyage the sooner I might be starting back again. The 
gale continued for several days, the wind at length dropped and 
then came ahead, blowing stronger than ever. It was now neces- 
sary to heave the ship to. 

In performing the operation a heavy sea struck her bows, and two 
more of the crew were washed overboard. Happily the emigrants 
were below, or many would probably have shared the same fate. 

I had now what I much required, abundance of work as a sea- 
man. When it is well for a person to fly from his own thoughts 
there is nothing like useful occupation to help him along; nothing 
is so bad as to allow one’s self to dwell on one’s misfortunes. The 
best advice I can give to a man when he is unhappy is to go and 
help others. He will find plenty of people requiring his aid, and 
numbers far more unhappy than himself. 

The ship had suffered a good deal during the gale, and we began 
to be apprehensive for her safety should the weather continue bad; 
but it soon cleared up, and we had every hopes of reaching our port 
in a week or ten days at the furthest. The day after the fair 
weather set in a sail was reported ahead. As we drew near each, 
other, we saw that she was in a very shattered condition. She was 
a brig, we perceived, but only one mast was standing. Her bow- 
sprit was carried away, and her foremast was gone by the board. 

Our captain made a signal to ask what assistance was required. 
The answer was, “ Some spars for our foremast and bowsprit, and 
some hands who may be willing to return to England to help navi- 
gate the ship. We have lost five overboard.” 

Our kind captain called us all aft. “ Here is an opportunity for 
those who may desire it to return home, ’ ’ said he. ‘ * The brig is in no 
very good plight, as you see; but many a vessel in a worse condition 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 225 

has made a safe voyage. I will not advise you either way. I shall 
be very sorry to lose you, but you are at liberty to go.” 

We thanked him very much for this additional proof of his love of 
justice and fair dealing, and La Motte and I consulted together 
what we would do. I at all events was ready to run every risk for 
the sake of returning home. I also felt that we might be the means 
of saving the brig and the people on board her. 

La Motte agreed to accompany me; so we told the captain that 
we would go. Andrews and another man said that they would ac- 
company us. Our captain therefore signaled that he would afford 
all the help asked for, and told the people in the brig in the mean' 
time to send a boat on board us. As we passed under the counter 
of the brig, previous to heaving to, a man standing on her taffrail 
hailed us through his speaking-trumpet: 

0 “ We can not do what you ask; we have not a boat that can 
swim, and we have only four hands remaining on board.” 

It struck me as I looked at the man that I knew his figure, and 
even the tone of his voice; but where I had seen him I could not 
tell. While the ship was being hove to, we went round to bid fare- 
well to the numerous friends we had found on board. Had we 
been brothers, we could not have been treated more kindly, and to 
no one was our gratitude more due than to the honest Bremen 
captain. 

The boat was ready; we stepped into her, with a couple of spars 
towing astern. The captain took his seat in the stern-sheets, 

“ I’ll go on board and see my brother skipper,” said he. “ Now, 
my sons, farewell. I shall not forget you, and you will not forget 
me, I hope. We may never meet together again in this world, or 
we may; but I hope that we shall all be steering the same course to 
that world which will last for ever and ever. Don’t ever forget that 
world j my sons. Whatever you do, wherever you go, always keep 
it in view. It is of more value than gold or much fine gold. Get, 

1 say, on that course, and do not let any one ever tempt you to alter 
it. In fair weather 01 foul, steadily steer for it, and ypu will be 
sure to make it at last.” 

We all listened attentively to the good man’s words; he spoke 
with so much earnestness, and had given us so strong a proof of his 
practical Christianity, that we could not but feel that they merited 
our respect. The captain of the brig — the same man who had hailed 
us with the speaking-trumpet — stood at the gangway to receive us 
when we pulled alongside. 

I rubbed my eyes as I looked at him. I rubbed and rubbed 


226 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


again. There stood, scarcely altered, it appeared to me, a man I 
had believed long since swallowed up by the hungry weaves, Captain 
Tooke, once the master of the “ Fate,” the brig in which I had been 
wrecked off the Scilly Islands. If it was not him— saved by some 
wonderful means— I felt sure that it was a brother or near relative; 
for if he was not my old captain no two people could be more alike. 
The sea had gone down completely, so that we without difficulty 
boarded the brig. Her master thanked the Bremen captain very 
warmly for the assistance he had brought him, and welcomed us. 

“You are bra.ve lads for coming on board such a wreck of a 
craft as mine is,” said he, looking at us, and putting out his hand 
to La Motte. “ However, if we are mercifully favored by fine 
weather, we will get her all ataunto before long.” 

We told him that if the ship was sound in hull we had no fears 
about the matter; we should soon get her to rights. • 

“ That’s the spirit I like to see,” he answered, and then turning 
to the Bremen captain, he continued, “Tell me,. my friend, how 
much am I to pay you for these spars? Ask your own price. 
They are invaluable to me.” 

“ Nothing,” was the answer. “ I had several to spare, and none 
have been lost during the voyage. Well, if you press the point, 
you may pay the value over to these men when you reach your ow n 
country. They have lost their all from being taken prisoners, and 
will require something to take them to their homes.” 

“ That I will, with all my heart,” answered the captain of the 
brig. 

While he was speaking I kept looking at him. Though his feat- 
ures were the same, his way of expressing himself was so different 
to that of Captain Tooke that I felt I must be mistaken. . 

Farewells were said between the two captains, and once more the 
Bremen captain shook hands with us all round. The emigrants 
cheered as the ship bore up round us, and away she went to the 
west, while we lay as near the wind as our dismasted state would 
allow us. 

I was anxious to settle the question as to the identity of the cap- 
tain, so I asked one of the men what his name was* He somewhat 
startled me by answering “ Tooke.” He, however, could tell me 
nothing about his past history; so I w r ent up to the captain himself, 
and asked him if he had not been on board the “ Fate ” when she 
was wrecked? 

“ Yes,” he replied; “ I was the sole survivor of all on board that 
unfortunate craft.” 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


227 


“No, sir, you were not,” I answered, and I told him how a 
number of us had got away in the boat, and how all, with the ex- 
ception of old Cole, Iffley, and me, had been lost, and how the old 
mate had died, and we were the only ones left. He told me that 
when the mast went overboard, he had clung to it, and that the tide 
had carried it out into mid-channel. When morning broke he found 
himself close to a vessel hove to. The wind then began to fall, and 
the sea to go down, and in a short time they sent a boat and picked 
him up. He by that time was very much exhausted, and could 
scarcely have held out another quarter of an hour. 

He himself had been all his life utterly careless about religion; 
but while he was hanging on to the mast amid the raging ocean, he 
had been led to think of the future, toward which he felt that he 
was probably hastening, and he could not help discerning the finger 
of God in thus bringing liiyat directly up to the only vessel within 
many miles of him. When he got on board, however, he was struck 
by the utter want of respect shown by the master and all the crew 
for anything like religion. He and they were scoffers and blas- 
phemers and professed infidels. He said that he was so horrified 
and shocked at all he heard, that he trembled lest he might have 
become like them. 

From that time forward he prayed that he might be enlightened 
and reformed, and he felt truly a new heart put into him. He had 
never since gone back. He had met with many misfortunes and 
hardships. He had been frequently shipwrecked; had lost all his 
property; had been taken prisoner by the enemy; had been com- 
pelled to serve as mate instead of master; and had scarcely ever 
been able to visit his family on shore. Still he went on, trusting in 
God’s mercy, and feeling sure that whatever happened to him was 
for the best. 

“ And, sir,” said I, when he had finished his account of himself, 
“ I heartily agree with you. I have often fainted and often doubted, 
but I have always come back to the same opinion, that what is, is 
Lest — that is, that whatever God does is best for us.” 

This conversation, by the bye, did not take place at once. We 
firs! set to work to get the ship to rights. We got sheers up, and, 
the weather being calm, we without difficulty got the new mast 
stepped, and another bowsprit rigged. The mast was only a jury- 
mast, but we set it up well with stays, and it carried sail fairly. 

While we were working away I observed the countenance of one 
of the men who was doing duty as mate, he being the most experi- 
enced of the three survivors of the crew, 


228 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


“Iam certain that you must be an old shipmate of mine,” said 
I, as we were hauling away together. “Is not your name Flood, 
and were you not on board the ‘ Kite ’ schooner when we were 
attacked by pirates?” 

' ‘ The very same, lad, ’ ’ said he. ‘ 4 And you — I remember you, 
too, very well now — you are Will Weatherhelm.” 

“ The same; and is it not extraordinary that thus, in the middle 
of the Atlantic, I should meet with two men whom I have not 
heard of for years, and one of whom I thought was dead?” 

“ Not more extraordinary than that those two men should have 
become thoroughly changed characters,” he answered. “ I was a 
careless reprobate, Weatherhelm, when you knew me, and now I 
have learned to think and to pray, and to strive to do well.” 

It certainly was surprising to me to hear John Flood speak as he 
did, for, unhappily, in those days theje were not many seamen who 
could say the same for themselves. But, poor fellows, their oppor- 
tunities were few of hearing anything about religion, and I believe 
men will be judged according to the advantages they may have pos- 
sessed. Lei those take heed, therefore, who have them, that they 
do not throw them away. 

Flood gave me an account of the way the brig — the “ Fair Rosa- 
mond ■ ’ was her name — met with her accident. It was indeed provi- 
dential that she and all on board had not perished. She had sailed 
from Port Royal, in Jamaica, bound for Liverpool, with several 
other vessels, under convoy of a frigate. Tlae first part of the voy- 
age was favorable, but the “Fair Rosamond ” was very deeply 
laden with sugar and rum and other West India produce, and being 
then out of trim, she proved herself a very dull sailer. 

To avoid the risk of capture the convoy had steered a more 
northerly course than is usual, and had not kept east till nearly in 
the latitude of Newfoundland. 

“We were constantly lagging behind, and the frigate had to 
come and whip us up so often that we completely lost our character 
in the fleet,” continued Flood. “ We did our best to keep up with 
the rest of the convoy, by setting every stitch of canvas we could 
carry; but nothing would do, and we should have had to heave 
part of the cargo overboard to have enabled her to keep up with the 
rest. At length we were overtaken by a gale of wind, and we had 
to heave to. We thought that the rest of the fleet were doing the 
same near us. It was night. When morning broke not a sail was 
to be seen. We were more likely to fall into the hands of the 
enemy, but still we could take our own time, and we thought that 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


22 9 

we were less likely to meet with an accident than when, blow high 
or low, we had to press her with canvas. However, we were mis- 
taken. We had been driven a long way to the nor’ard of the Gulf 
Stream, and the weather was cold and bad, when one night, just as 
I had come on deck to keep the middle watch, and had gone to the 
wheel, I looked up and thought I saw a great white glittering cloud 
right ahead of us. I sung out, and the first mate, who was officer 
of the watch, crying, ‘ Hard a-lee!” ran forward. I put down the 
helm, but scarcely had I done so before I saw what I knew to be a 
huge iceberg rising up directly ahead of us. I fully believed that 
our last moments were come. It appeared to me as if the ship was 
running into a cavern in the side of some vast mountain of marble. 
I held my breath. If my hair ever stood on end, I believe that it 
did on that occasion. My eyeballs seemed starting from their 
sockets. I felt the blood leave my cheeKs and rush round my 
heart, as if it would burst. A terrific crash came. There were 
despairing shrieks and cries. I thought the brig was lost. The 
bowsprit was carried away; the foremast came toppling down, and 
at the same time a sea struck the ship, and swept over the decks. I 
held on by the wheel. The captain rushed on deck just as the sea 
had passed over us. I felt the brig rebound as it were from the 
iceberg, and I found that we were drifting away from it. The two 
men who were below came on deck at the same time the caplain 
did. We shouted to our companions. We looked about aboard 
and around us, on either side where the wreck of the foremast was 
still hanging on to the channels, but no voice replied — not a glimpse 
of them could be seen. We four were left alone on that stormy ice- 
surrounded sea, with a shattered, almost unmanageable ship. We 
did not fear. Our captain was a host in himself. We could not get 
the wreck of the mast on board, so we had to cut it away. Happily 
the wind came round from the nor’ard, and by rigging a stay from 
the head of the mainmast to the stump of the bowsprit, we were 
able to set sail and to get the brig’s head round. We had been 
knocking about ten days when you fell in with us. Two vessels 
passed us, and must have seen our condition, but they did not alter 
their course. All who sail the ocean are not good Samaritans, like 
your friend the Bremen captain.” 

Such was the brief account Flood gave me of their disaster. I 
have always designated the good man of whom he spoke as the 
Bremen captain, for I could not pronounce his name, and did not 
write it down. I hope we sh|dl meet in heaven. 

I must huriy on with my adventures. Once more I indulged in 


230 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


tlie hope of being speedily restored to my wife and home. The 
weather was fine, and, considering her crippled state, the brig made 
fair way. In some respects we were better off than on board the 
Bremen ship, for w r e had ample and good provisions and plenty of 
room, and as our supply of clothes was small, Captain Tooke dis- 
tributed among us those belonging to the poor fellows who had 
been lost. 

I had one night turned in, after keeping the first watch, under the 
belief that all was going well. I was roused up with the so often 
heard cry, “ All hands shorten sail!” I hurried on deck to find the 
brig plunging into a heavy sea, which was straining every timber in 
her. A fierce north-easter was blowing. To attempt to face it was 
impossible, and it was not without difficulty that we got the brig’s 
head round from it. Away we went before the wind, and away 
from England and my home. By the captain’s computation we 
were only three hundred miles or so to the northward of the Ber- 
mudas. The brig had for some time been in a leaky state, and we 
had frequently to turn to at the pumps, but, with fine weather, we 
had had no fear of keeping her clear. Now, however, the case was 
altered, and Captain Tooke resolved to run for the Bermudas. 

It is no easy matter to hit a small spot in the middle of the ocean, 
after dark and blowing weather, when no observation has lately 
been taken. We had to keep a bright lookout not to miss the 
islands. I felt especially anxious about the matter. Should we run 
past them, we might, after all, be compelled to put into an Ameri- 
can port to repair the ship, and my return home might be still fur- 
ther postponed. 

The morning came; the day wore on. No land was in sight. My 
heart sunk within me. Over and over again I went to the main- 
topmast-head to look out for the group of rocks I so anxiously de- 
sired to see. 

At length, just on the starboard bow, I caught sight of a blue 
mound rising out of the water. I hurried below to tell the captain. 
In a couple of hours we were safely at anchor within St. George’s 
harbor. 

I was in hopes that the brig would be quickly repaired, and that 
we should be allowed to proceed on our voyage. However, as it 
turned out, an agent of the owner’s resided there. He ordered the 
brig to be surveyed. The surveyor was connected with the chief 
ship builder of the place. He pronounced her unfit to proceed on 
her voyage without a thorough repair,. The cargo was consequently 
discharged, and the crew were paid off. Captain Tooke regretted 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


231 


this exceedingly, but could not help it. He said that he should 
have been perfectly ready to take the brig home, with a new mast 
and a little caulking in her upper works which could be got at sim- 
ply by heeling her over. However, he had to submit. 

He not only paid us our wages, but the wages which were due to 
the poor fellows who were lost, and also the value of the spars which 
had been given to him by the Bremen captain. Thus I found my- 
self possessed of more money than I had had in my pocket since I 
had been pressed. The question was now, how I could most speed- 
ily reach England. I took counsel with La JVlotte. He observed, 
that the longest way round is often the shortest way there; and that, 
perhaps, by going to some port in the United States, we might more 
quickly get to Europe, as there was no vessel in harbor bound there 
at that time. 

Just as we had arrived at this determination, a homeward-bound 
West Indiaman, which had parted from her convoy, put into the 
harbor. She had lost several men by yellow fever, and her captain, 
who came on shore, was very glad to ship us the moment we offered. 
He took all the men who had been paid off from the ‘ * Fair Rosa- 
mond.”' 

Once more we were under way for Old England. The “ Jane ” 
was a line ship, belonging to London. She was in good repair, and 
well found, and with the fresh hands taken on board, well manned. 
We had no reason to dread gales of wind or disasters of any sort. 
The wind came fair, and we had a fine run till we were not far off 
the chops of the Channel, when it fell a dead calm. There we lay 
for a couple of days, well-nigh rolling our masts out, when a light 
breeze sprung up from the eastward. Though it was against us, 
anything was better than a calm. Oh, how I longed to be at home! 
Again almost in sight of England, I could not help every moment 
conjuring up pictures of the scenes that home might present. Some 
times they were bright and happy, but then they would become so 
sad and painful that I grew sick at heart by their contemplation. 
“ At all events,” I said to myself, “ all my doubts will soon be at 
an end. I shall know what has occurred.” 

Such thoughts were passing through my mind, when the lookout 
from the mast-head reported several sail in sight, coming down be- 
fore the wind. The report caused considerable excitement on board. 
They might be friends, but they might be enemies; and if so, there 
was too great a probability of our finding ourselves entering a 
French port as prisoners, instead of returning home as we had ex- 
pected. Our captain resolved to stand on close-hauled, till he could 


232 


WILL WEATHE11HEL3I. 


ascertain whether they looked suspicious, and if so, to keep away 
to the northward. As they drew nearer, we did not doubt from the 
breadth of canvas they showed that they were men-of-war. In a 
short time we got near enough to them to exchange signals, when 
we made out that they were British ships. The headmost one, a 
frigate, signaled to us to heave to, an order our captain very unwill- 
ingly obeyed. 

‘ ‘ Perhaps she only wants to send some message home, but I 
doubt it. Lads, look out for yourselves, ’ ’ said he. 

I knew too well to what his remark referred. We, as ordered, 
hove to, and a lieutenant and midshipman with a boat’s crew 
strongly armed came aboard us. 

“ Turn the hands up, captain,” said the lieutenant briskly. The 
order was obeyed, and we all had to appear on deck. “You are 
strongly manned, captain, ’ ’ observed the officer, running his eye 
over us. “You can easily manage to get into port with half the 
n umber of hands you now have. ’ ’ 

“Could not work my ship without all the hands I have,” an- 
swered the captain gruffly. 

“There is nothing like trying, ” observed the lieutenant. “Let 
me see your papers. Ah, I observe you entered some of these men 
when part of your voyage w r as accomplished. You can do very 
well without them, at all events. They none of them have protec- 
tion. No, I see that clearly. Come, lads, get your bags up; I can 
take no excuses. Our ships must have men; I know nothing more 
about the matter. Be smart now.” 

I endeavored in vain to expostulate. I entreated the officer to 
allow me to proceed in the ship. He replied that it was his duty to 
take me. He could not stop to argue about duty. I must go. I 
knew that he was right; but, oh, how grievous was this new trial to 
bear! I thought that I should have been beside mysejf. 

La Motte was doing duty as mate of the ship, and he escaped. 
All I could do was to tell him where to find my wife, and to entreat 
him to lose no time in visiting her, and in assuring her of my safety. 
He promised faithfully to fulfill my wishes, and with a heavy, al- 
most breaking heart, I stepped into the man-of-war’s boat. 

I felt inclined to curse the country which could allow of such a 
system. Happily, I did not. I knew that it arose from the igno- 
rance of those in authority as to how to get seamen for the king’s 
ships, and not from cruelty or heartlessness. It may seem surprising 
to those who live in happier times that no better plan could be 
thought of. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


233 


I found myself conveyed on board the “ Nymph,” a thirl y-six 
twelve-pounder-gun frigate, commanded by Captain Edward Pel- 
lew. When questioned, I did not deny that I had before served on 
board a man-of-war, and having given an account of my advent- 
ures, I was rated at once as an able seaman. I went about my duty, 
and did it to the best of my power, but it was mechanically, without 
any spirit or heartiness. 

Month after month passed away. I felt as if I was in a trance. I 
could not think. I tried to forget the past; I dared not meditate on 
the future. How I lived through that time I scarcely know. I 
never laughed or smiled, I scarcely spoke to any one; even the 
active duties of the ship did not arouse me. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

On board the “Nymph”— A hot engagement— Escape of the enemy— I am 
transferred to the “ Pelican ”— Action off the Isle of Bas— I fancy myself 
with a wooden leg— We put into Plymouth Writing under difficulties— A 
sad disappointment— We sail— A chase— Trying time— Action between the 
“Venus ” and “ Semillante ”— In search of the enemy. 

Captain Edwarp Pellew, who commanded the “Nymph,” 
was, I was told, one of the smartest officers in the British navy. 

“ Where there is anything to do, he’ll do it; and if there is noth- 
ing to do, he’ll find something,” was the opinion expressed of him 
on board. 

He had during the last war been first lieutenant of the “ Apollo,” 
Captain Pownoll. 

“ I belonged to her at the time,” said my messmate Dick Hagger. 
“We were in company with the ‘ Cleopatra, ’ Captain Murray, 
who, one morning, sent us in chase of a cutter seen in the north- 
west quarter. About half -past ten, when we had got nearly within 
gunshot of the cutter, we saw a large ship standing out from the 
land. That she was an enemy, there was no doubt; so Captain 
Pownoll at once did his best to close her. The wind was about 
north-east, and the stranger, standing to the nor’ard on the starboard 
tack, was enabled to cross our bows. Soon afterward she tacked to 
the eastward, and we also hove about until, she being on our weather 
quarter, we again tacked, as did also the stranger. We exchanged 
broadsides with her in passing, when we once more tacked and 
brought her to close actibn about noon. It was the hottest fight I 
had ever then been engaged in. We tossed our guns in and out, 


234 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


determined to win. It was sharp work; numbers of our men were 
falling, several killed and many wounded. Among the former was 
our brave captain, who was shot down about an hour after the action 
commenced, when our first lieutenant, Edward Pellew, who was 
now our captain, took command of the ship. You may be sure that 
he continued the fight bravely, cheering us on. What we might 
have thought about the matter had another man been in his place, I 
don’t know; but we knew him, and felt sure he would keep it up 
as long as we had a stick standing or a shot in the locker. 

“ We were now edging away off the wind toward Ostend. It was 
soon seen that it was the intention of the enemy to run ashore. ' We 
had by this time made her out to be the ‘ Stanislaus,’ a French 
thirty-two-gun frigate, though she was only carrying at the time, so 
we afterward found out, twenty-six long twelve-pounders, so that 
she was no match for us. 

“Our young commander now did his best to prevent the ‘ Stanis- 
laus ’ from running ashore by crossing and recrossing her bows; 
but on heaving the lead, we found that we were in little more than 
twenty feet of water, and that if we stood on, we ourselves must be 
aground before long. 

“ The master and other officers now came up to Mr. Pellew, and 
strongly advised him to wear ship. You may be sure we were very 
sorry when we had to bring the ‘ Apollo ’ to the wind, with her head 
off shore; and a few minutes afterward the ‘ Stanislaus ’ took the 
ground, when her foremast and main-topmast fell over the side. 
Still greater was our disappointment when we heard that Ostend 
was neutral ground, and that we should be violating what was 
called the neutrality of the port by renewing the engagement. I 
am not certain that our commander would not have run all risks, 
had not the enemy fired a gun to leeward to claim the protection of 
the Dutch. It is but right to say that the French fought well, for, 
besides our captain, we had five poor fellows killed and twenty 
wounded. Our rigging was cut to pieces, and we had three feet of 
water in the hold. The French loss was much more severe. 

“ Mr. Pellew got his promotion to the rank of commander for this 
action. I next served with him on board the ‘ Pelican, ’ a fourteen- 
gun brig to which he was soon afterward appointed. We were off 
the Isle of Bas, toward the end of April, 1782, I mind, when we 
made out several vessels at anchor in the roads. 

“ Our commander at once resolved to attack them, aud for this 
purpose stood inshore, when we saw two privateers — a brig and a 
schooner, each of equal force to the ‘ Pelican ’—spring their broad- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


235 


sides toward tlie entrance of the roads, to prevent us entering. Our 
commander was not the man to he stopped by threats of that sort. 
Standing on, we opened a brisk fire on the two privateers, and soon 
drove them, as well as a third which appeared inside, on shore, 
close under the shelter of some heavy batteries, whose guns at once 
began blazing away at us. We were struck several times, and two 
of our men were wounded, but no one was killed. It was about as 
pretty and well-executed an affair as I ever saw, and we were all 
right glad to hear that our commander had obtained his post rank 
for it. So you see. Will, we’ve got a man to be proud of.” 

I agreed with Hagger, but yet my heart was too sore to feel any 
satisfaction at knowing this, and I would a thousand times rather 
have been on shore with my dear wife; and who, under my circum- 
stances, would not? Still I might hope by some means or other to 
be able to rejoin her. The frigate, I found, had been fitted out at 
Portsmouth, and to Portsmouth she would in all probability return. 
I would thankfully have received a wound sufficiently severe to 
have sent me to hospital. Then, if I once got home, discharged 
from the ship, I determined to take very good care not again to be 
pressed, it would be hard indeed if Charles Iffley should discover 
me. In the meantime, I resolved, as I had done before, to perform 
my duty. 

I prayed, for my wife’s sake, should we go into action, that my 
life might be preserved. For myself, just then, I cared very little 
what might become of me. 

I remember, however, laughing as I thought, if my right leg were 
to be shot away, how Uncle Kelson and I should go stumping about 
Southsea Common together — he had lost his left leg — now our heads 
almost knocking against each other, now going off at tangents. I 
pictured to myself the curious figure we should cut. 

Hagger thought, as he looked at me, that I had gone daft. 

“ What is the matter, Will?” he asked. I told him. 

“Don’t let such fancies get hold of your mind, man,” he an- 
swered. “You’ll keep your two legs and get safely on shore one 
of these days, when we have well trounced the mounseers. Ever 
bear in mind that ‘ there’s a sweet little cherub who sits up aloft, to 
take care of the life of poor Jack. ’ 

“ He’ll take care of both your legs for your wife’s sake, as I doubt 
not it would be better for you to keep them on.” 

After cruising up and down the Channel for some time, we put 
into Plymouth, where we found the “ Venus ” frigate. Com- 


236 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


mander Israel Pellew, our captain’s brother, came on board to keep 
his brother company, he having no command at the time. 

No leave was granted, and very little communication held with 
the shore. I was unable to obtain a sheet of paper and a pen, the 
officers only having writing materials. I would willingly have given 
a guinea for a sheet of papei*, a pen, and some ink; but it was not 
until we had been at anchor some time that I got a sheet from the 
purser’s steward, with a wretched pen and a small bottle of ink, for 
which I paid him five shillings. I was thankful to get it at that 
price, and immediately hurried down to write a letter to my wife. 
Bitterly to my disappointment, before I had finished it, I heard the 
boatswain’s shrill call summoning all hands on deck to heave up the 
anchor and make sail. Placing the half-finished letter in my bag, 
which I had brought from the “ Jane,” I followed my shipmates. 

We sailed in company with the “Venus,” Captain Faulknor, 
and stood down Channel in search of French cruisers. My earnest 
prayer was, that we might put into Spithead, whence I should have 
an opportunity of sending my letter on shore, even though I should 
be unable to get leave to go myself. As a pressed man, I kuew 
that I should have a difficulty in obtaining that. 

The “ Venus ” had been hurriedly fitted out. She had no marines 
on board, while she was twenty seamen short of her complement. 
She was rated as a thirty- two-gun frigate, mounting twenty-four 
long twelve- pounders on the main-deck, with six eighteen-pounder 
carronades and eight long six-pounders on her quarter-deck and 
forecastle, which gave her a total of thirty-eight guns. Thus, ex- 
cept her carronades, her guns were of light caliber. We were some- 
where about a hundred leagues north-west of Cape Finisterre when 
a sail was seen to the south-east. Captain Pellew, as senior officer, 
ordered Captain Faulknor (the “ Venus ” being much the nearer) 
to chase. We at the same time made out another sail to the east- 
ward. Hoping that she might be an enemy, we immediately steered 
for her. She proved, however, to be an English frigate bound out 
with dispatches to the West Indies. As her captain could not go 
out of his way to look after the Frenchman, we bore up alone to 
follow the “ Venus,” hoping to get up in time to take part in the 
engagement, should she be fortunate enough to bring the stranger 
to action. We could calculate pretty accurately whereabouts to 
find our consort, when about noon the next day it came on calm for 
some hours, and though we set all sail, the ship made but little pro- 
gress through the water. 

Late in the evening, the sound of rapid firing reached our ears, 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


23 ? 


and we knew that the “ Venus ” must be engaged, but whether or 
not with a ship of superior force, it was impossible to decide. It 
greatly tried our patience to hear the sound of the battle and yet 
not be able to take part in it. Even I was aroused, and for a time 
forgot my own troubles. The midshipmen wenl aloft to the mast- 
heads, but still they were unable to catch sight of the combatants. 
The fast-coming gloom concealed the clouds of smoke which might 
have risen above the horizon and shown their position. 

The officers walked the deck with hurried strides, their glasses in 
their hands, every now and then turning them in the direction from 
which the sound came, though they knew they were not likely to 
see anything. 

The men stood about whistling for a wind until it seemed as if 
their cheeks would crack. 

At last the breeze came; the order was given t3 trim sails. Never 
did men fly to their stations with more alacrity. 

The days were long, and as night came down at last on the world 
of waters, we could hear the firing more distinctly than ever, but 
still we could not see the flashes of the guns. 

Next morning a sail was sighted to the south-east. She was 
standing toward us, but alone. 

“ She may be the ‘ Venus,’ or she may be an enemy which has 
captured her, and is now coming on to fight us,” I observed to Dick 
Dagger. 

He laughed heartily. “ No, no, Will,” he answered. “ Depend 
upon it, the ‘ Venus,’ if she is taken, which I don’t believe, would 
have too much knocked about an enemy to leave her any stomach 
for fighting another English ship.” 

‘ ‘ But suppose she is not the ship with which the ‘ Venus ’ en- 
gaged, but a fresh frigate standing out to fight us?” 

“ I only hope she may be; we’ll soon show her that she has caught 
a Tartar. Depend on’t, we’ll not part company till we’ve taken 
her.” 

The matter was soon set at rest, when, the stranger nearing us, 
we observed her crippled state, and recognized her as our consort. 

“ She’s had a pretty tough fight of it,” said Hagger as we gazed 
at her. Her foretop-gallant main and cross- jack yards were shot 
away, her yards, rigging, and sails sadly cut up, but what injuries 
her hull had received we could not make out. 

On closing with each other, both ships hove to, and our third 
lieutenant, Mr. Pellowe, whose name curiously enough was very 
jikc that of our captain (we used to call the one the Owe, the other 


238 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


"the Ew), went on board, accompanied by Commander Israel Pellew. 
I was one of the boat’s crew. We found, on getting up to her, 
that no small number of shot had struck her hull, some going 
through her sides, others her bulwarks, besides which she had re- 
ceived other damages. 

Her people told us that they had had an action, which had lasted 
the best part of three hours, with a French frigate of forty guns, the 
“ Semillante;” and that, though they had suffered sharply, the 
Frenchman had been much more knocked about. 

After engaging her for two hours, they had got up to within half 
a cable’s length of her, when, trimming their sails as well as they 
were able, they ranged up alongside with double-shotted guns and 
gave her a broadside. 

Having shot ahead they were going about to repeat their fire, 
when they discovered to leeward a large ship under French colors. 
The “ Semillante,” recognizing the stranger, bore up to join her, 
when their captain, seeing that he should have no chance of victory, 
considering the way their ship had suffered, and that they might be 
taken, hauled close to the wind, and, making all the sail they could 
carry, stood away from their new enemy. 

If it had not been for that they declared they would have "aken 
the “ Semillante,” and of this there seemed little doubt. They had 
had two seamen killed, and the master and nineteen seamen 
wounded. 

We afterward learned that the enemy had had twelve killed and 
twenty wounded. 

Considering the disparity of force, the action was a gallant one, 
and we more than ever regretted that we had been prevented taking 
part in it; for we should, we felt sure, have captured one or both of 
the French ships. 

As soon a» the shot- holes in the Venus ” had been stopped and 
her rigging repaired, we made sail together in search of the enemy, 
we hoping to have an opportunity of tackling the fresh ship, while 
our consort attacked her old opponent. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


239 


CHAPTER XVII. 

In sight of the foe— The enemy get clear— Return to England— I lose my letter— 

Too late— We again sail— Action with the “ Cleopatra ”— Tough work with 

British tars— A last effort— Death of the French captain— On board the prize 

—Steer a course for the Isle of Wight— Our reception— My hopes and fears— 

Leave or no leave?— We run into Portsmouth harbor. 

We continued our course under all sail to the eastward, and next 
evening caught sight of two sail, which we took to be French, 
standing up Channel. 

We made chase, but lost sight of them in the night. Next morn 
mg, however, there they were, hull down, right ahead. We con- 
tinued the pursuit along the French coast, but had the disappoint- 
ment of seeing them at last take refuge in Cherbourg harbor. 
Knowing that they were not likely to come out again we stood 
across Channel, the “ Venus ” running into Plymouth to land her 
wounded men and repair damages, while we stood on for Falmouth. 

Again I was disappointed in not being able to dispatch my letter, 
for after we knew where the “ Venus ” was bound for, no com- 
munication was held with her. 

I had got the letter written and addressed, but had not closed it, 
as I wished to add a few more words at latest. For safety’s sake 1 
kept it in my bag, as it might have got wetted and soiled in my 
pocket. Until we were off Falmouth I did not know that we were 
lo stand in. I was then too much engaged in shortening sail to gel 
out my letter. When I was at last able to go below I hurried to my 
bag, intending to add a postscript, but what was my dismay to be 
unable to find it! 

I felt again and again, and then turned out all my things, but 
could nowhere discover the missing epistle. I hastened to try and 
obtain another sheet of paper from the purser’s steward, but he was 
just then too much engaged to attend to me, and directly after I got 
it my watch was called and I had to return on deck. 

The moment my watch was over I went below, and, as -well as I 
could, began writing. It was no easy matter in the dim light and 
hubbub going on around me, I finished it, however, telling my 
dear wife all that had occurred, how miserable I was at being sepa- 
rated from her, and my hopes, while I remained in the Channel 
cruiser, of being allowed to get on shore some day, even though we 
might be together but for a few short hours. Ths letter was 


240 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


closed and wafered; I ruslied on deck with it, but only to find that 
the last boat from the shore had shoved off, and the next instant 
the hands were turned up to make sail. 

I felt more inclined than I had ever done since my childhood to 
burst into tears. I think I should have done so from very vexation 
and disappointment, had I not been obliged to hurry to my. station, 
putting my letter in my pocket as I did so. 

It was trying, every one will allow, for all this time my dear wife 
could not tell what had become of me. My other friends might 
think me dead, but I knew that she would never believe that to be 
the case until she had strong evidence of the fact. Even if she had 
I felt sure nothing would ever induce her to marry again. 

The wind was fair up Channel. Arriving nearly abreast of the 
Start Point, we ran out to the southward, the captain hoping to fall 
jn with one of the two French frigates which a short time before 
we and the “ Venus ” had chased into Cherbourg. One of the two 
was, as I before said, the “ Semillante,” the other was the “ Cleo- 
patra. ’ ’ 

On the morning of the 18th of June, just as day broke, the Start 
bearing east by north, distant five or six leagues, we discovered a 
sail in the south-east quarter, and immediately afterward bore up in 
chase, carrying all the canvas we could set. As we approached the 
stranger we felt nearly sure that she was the very French frigate we 
were in search of. She was under all sail, some of us thought, for 
the purpose of getting away. 

“We shall have another long chase, and if that there craft has a 
fast pair of heels, she’ll get into Cherbourg and make us look fool- 
ish,” said Dick Hagger as we watched her. 

We stood on, and soon had the satisfaction of discovering that we 
were sailing faster than the stranger. The captain and several of 
the other officers were examining her through their glasses. 

In a short time they formed the opinion that she was no other 
than the “ Cleopatra ” which had before got away from us, and 
such we afterward found to be the case. 

A shout rose from our deck when we observed her haul up her 
foresail and lower her topgallant sails, showing that she had made 
up her mind to fight us. 

In about two hours and a half we got so near that we heard some 
one from her quarter-deck hail us. 

Captain Pellew, on this, not making out distinctly what was said, 
shouted, “ Ahoy! ahoy!” when our crew gave three cheers, and 
right hearty ones they were, and shouted, “ Long live King George.” 


WILL WEATHEEHELM. 


241 


As yet not a shot had been fired, and it might have been supposed 
that we were two friendly ships meeting. On hearing our cheer the 
French captain — his name we afterward heard was Mullon — came 
on to the gangway, and waving his liat, exclaimed, “ Vive la Na- 
tion!” on which his crew tried to give three cheers, as we had 
done; but it was a very poor imitation, I can vouch for it. 

They had no one to lead them off, and they ultered shrieks 
rather than cheers, which, when we gave them, came out with a 
hearty ringing sound. 

We saw the French captain talking to his crew, and waving a cap 
of liberty which he held in his hand. He then gave it to one of the 
men, who ran up the rigging and screwed it to the mast-head. 

“We’ll soon bring that precious cap of yours down, my boys, ” 
cried Dick. 

We were all this time at our guns, stripped to the waist, ready 
and eager to begin the game; and if the Frenchmen behaved as 
they seemed inclined to do, it would be, we felt sure, pretty sharp 
work. 

The French captain, now coming to the gangway, waved his hat. 
Our captain did the same, and passed the word along the deck that 
we were not to fire until we saw him raise his hat to his head. 

Eagerly watching for the signal, we stood on, gradually nearing 
the French frigate, both of us running before the wind, until our 
foremost larboard guns could be brought to bear on the starboard 
quarter of the “ Cleopatra.” 

The captain raised his hat. Almost before it was on his head the 
foremost gun was fired, the others being rapidly discharged in suc- 
cession. 

We were not to have the game all on our own side, for the French 
ship at once returned the compliment, and her shot came crashing 
on board of us. 

We now, being within rather less than hailing distance of each 
other, kept blazing away as fast as we could run -our guns in and 
out. 

We were doing considerable damage to the Frenchman, we could 
see, but we were suffering not a little ourselves. Two of our mid- 
shipmen had fallen, killed while steadily going about their duty. 
Soon afterward I saw another poor young fellow knocked over. 
Then the boatswain, in the act of raising his whistle to his mouth, 
had his head shot away; and some of the men declared that they 
heard it sounding notwithstanding, as it flew overboard. I saw 
three or four of our jollies — as we called the marines— drop while 


242 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


firing away from tlie forecastle. A round shot also striking our 
mainmast, I every instant expected to see it fall. 

Though badly wounded, it was not cut through, however, and 
the carpenter and his crew set to work immediately to fish it. 

We had been engaged some twenty minutes or so, when we saw 
the “ Cleopatra ” haul up some eight points from the wind. 

We followed her closely, having no intention of allowing her to 
escape, if such was the expectation of her commander. 

After blazing away some little time longer, down.came her mizzen- 
mast; directly afterward her wheel was shot away. She was thus 
rendered unmanageable, though for some time her crew endeavored 
to keep her on her course by trimming sails; but our shot soon 
cutting away her braces, she played round off, and came stem on 
toward us, her jibboom passing between our fore and mainmasts, 
pressing so hard against the already wounded mainmast that I ex- 
pected every instant to see it fall, especially as we had lost the main 
and spring stays. It was a question which would first go, our 
mainmast or the Frenchman’s jibboom. 

Fortunately fur us, the latter was carried way, and our mainmast 
stood. The moment our captain saw the stem of the “ Cleopatra ” 
strike us, supposing that the French were about to board, he shouted 
out, “Boarders, repel boarders!” But the Frenchmen hadn’t the 
heart to do it, and instead of their boarding us, we boarded them. 

One party, led by our first lieutenant, nshed on the enemy’s 
forecastle; while another division, headed by the master, got 
through his main- deck ports. 

Although the “Cleopatra’s” jib-boom had given way, her lar- 
board maintopmast studden-sail boom-iron had hooked on to the 
leecli-rope of (air maintopsail, and was producing so powerful a 
strain on the mast that it seemed as if it could not possibly stand a 
minute longer. Seeing this, a brave fellow named Burgess, a maintop 
man, sprung aloft, and, in spite of the bullets aimed at him by some 
of the French marines stationed aft, cut the leech-rope from the end 
of the main-yard. 

Our third lieutenant had in the meantime cut away our best bower 
anchor, which had hooked on to the enemy’s ship. 

I was one of those who had got through the main-deck ports. 
Following our gallant master, we fought our way aft, the French- 
men for some time defending themselves bravely; but they could 
not resist the impetuosity of our charge, our cutlasses slashing and 
hewing, and our pistols going off within a few inches of their heads. 
At last many of them began to cry for quarter. 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


243 


Although they numbered eighty inore men than we did, most of 
them, throwing down their weapons, leaped below, tumbling head 
over heels upon each other. The rest fled aft, and seeing we had 
won the day, made no further resistance. Remarking that the 
Frenchman’s flag was still flying, I sprung aft to the halyards, and 
down I hauled it, cheering lustily as I did so, the cheer being taken 
up by the remaining crew of the “ Nymph.” 

The “ Cleopatra ” was ours. Never did I witness a more fearful 
sight. The decks fore and aft were slippery with gore, and covered 
with the dead and dying. During the short lime we had been 
engaged, upward of sixty had been struck down who, not an hour 
before, full of health and spirits, had attempted to reply to our 
cheer. Among them, on one side of the quarter-deck, lay the gal- 
lant Captain Mullon, surrounded by a mass of gore, for a round 
shot had torn open his back and carried away the greater part of 
his left hip. In one hand he was holding a paper, at which, strange 
as it may seem, he was biting away and endeavoring to swallow. I, 
with two other men, went up to him lo ascertain what he was 
about. In the very act his hand fell, his jaw dropped, and there 
was the paper sticking in his mouth. He was dead. It evidently, 
however, was not the paper he intended to destroy, but, as it turned 
out, was his commission; for in his right pocket was found the list 
of coast signals used by the French, which, with his last gasp, he 
was thus endeavoring to prevent falling into the hands of the 
British. 

Without loss of time one hundred and fifty prisoners were re- 
moved on board the “ Nymph,” and just as the last had stepped on 
board the ships separated. 

The third lieutenant, who had been sent on board with a prize 
crew, at once set to work to repair the damages which the “ Cleo- 
patra ” had received, while all hands on the “Nymph” were 
actively employed in the same way. When we came to look at our 
watches, we found that we had dished up the enemy in just fifty 
minutes from the time the first shot had been fired at her until her 
flag was hauled down. 

“ Pretty quick work,” said Dick Hagger to me as we were work- 
ing together repairing the rigging. “ I told you the captain would 
be sharp about it; he always is at all he undertakes.” 

On making up the butcher’s bill, however, as the purser called it, 
we found that although the Frenchmen out of three hundred and 
twenty men and boys had lost sixty-three, we, out of our two hun- 
dred and forty, had had no less than twenty-three killed and twenty 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


244 

severely wounded, making fifty in all. Of these the gentlemen be- 
longing to the midshipmen’s berth had suffered most severely, for 
four of them had been killed and two wounded. Of the senior 
officers, none had been killed; but the second lieutenant had been 
wounded, as was the lieutenant of marines, with six Of his men. 

As soon as sail could be got on the two frigates we, to my great 
joy, steered a course for the Isle of Wight. I now felt more thank- 
ful than ever that I had escaped, as there seemed every probability 
that I should be able to see my dear wife, or at all events com- 
municate with her. As soon as I went below, though I could with 
difficulty keep my eyes from closing, I opened my letter and added 
a few lines describing the action, and then placed it in my pocket, 
ready to send off on the first opportunity. 

In spite of the poor fellows suffering below, and the number of 
shipmates we had lost, we felt very happy as with a fair breeze we 
sailed in through the Needles, our well- won prize following in our 
wake. 

Never did those high-pointed rocks look more white and glitter- 
ing, or the downs more green and beautiful, while the blue sea 
sparkling in the sunlight seemed to share our joy. The people on 
the shore, as we passed the little town of Yarmouth, waved to us, 
and threw up their hats, and the flags from many a flagstaff flew 
out to the breeze. 

As soon as we brought up at Spithead I eagerly looked out for a 
boat going to the shore, by which to send my letter, hoping to have 
it delivered at once, instead of lettiag it go through the post-office; 
but, as it was late in the evening, no shore boats came off, and I had 
to wait all the night, thinking how little my dear wife supposed I 
was so near her. 

I turned out at daybreak, before the hammocks- were piped up, 
that I might take a look at the spot where I thought she was living. 
Suddenly a sickness came over me. What if she should have been 
taken ill when I was so rudely torn from her! Perhaps she had 
never recovered, and was even now numbered among the dead. I 
could scarcely refrain from jumping overboard and trying to swim 
to Southsea beach. It seemed so near, and yet I knew that I could 
not do it. Then I thought I would go boldly up to the first lieu- 
tenant and tell him how treacherously I had been carried off- 
snatched, as it were, from the arms of my young wife, and ask him 
to give me leave for a few hours, promising faithfully to come back 
at the time he might name. Then I reflected that the ship was 
short-handed, that we had the prisoners to guard, and that until she 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 245 

had been brought up safe in Portsmouth harbor, every man would 
be required for duty. 

“It would be useless to ask him, ” I groaned out. “ He’ll re- 
member I’m a pressed man, and would not trust me. It is too 
common for men to break their word and desert, indifferent to what 
others may suffer in consequence. No,” I thought, “I’ll try to 
send my letter first, and then wait with all the patience I can muster 
until I can get an answer.” 

Before long the hands were turned up, and we all set about our 
usual duties washing down decks and giving them a double allow- 
ance of holy-stoning, to try and get out more of the blood stains 
before visitors should come on board. 

Scarcely was this work over than the order was given to get up 
the anchor and make sail, as, tide and wind being favorable, we 
were to run into harbor. 

My heart bounded at the thought, I sprung with eagerness to my 
station, the ship gathered. way, and, followed by our prize, we stood 
toward the well-known entrance of Portsmouth harbor. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The ship made snug— Visitors come on board— Jerry Vincent— News of my 
wife and home— How my uncle became indignant— Jerry -wishes me to take 
French leave — I refuse— I ask for and obtain permission to go ashore— Meet- 
ing with Uncle Kelson— Jerry prepares my wife for the interview — Tempted 
to desert— A happy time — Jerry’s recollections— On board the “ Arethusa ” — 
Yarns— A ghost story — A slippery deck— The pirates’ heads. 

TnE “ Nymph ” under all plain sail, our prize following in our 
wake, glided on past Southsea Castle — the yellow beach, the green 
expanse of the common, the lines of houses and cottages beyond the 
Postdown hills rising in the distance, the batteries of Gosport and 
Portsmouth ahead, the masts of numberless vessels of all sizes seen 
beyond them. 

I waited at my station in the foretop for the order to shorten sail. 
I cast many a glance toward the shore, where she whom I loved 
best on earth was, I fancied, gazing at the two ships with thousands 
of other spectators, little supposing that I was on board one of 
them. As we entered the harbor we heard with joyous hearts the 
order given to shorten sail. The boatswain’s pipe sounded shrilly; 
the topmen flew aloft. Never did a ship’s crew pull and haul, and 
run out on the yards, with greater alacrity to furl the canvas. 

The water was covered with boats, the people standing up and 


246 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


waving and cheering. It was no easy matter to steer clear of them 
as we stood up the harbor. When rounding to off the dockyard 
the anchor was dropped, the cable running out like lightning, as if 
eager to do its duty and help to bring us safe home. The prize, 
then passing us, brought up close under our stern. 

Scarcely was the cable stoppered, and the ship made snug, than 
hundreds of boats pulled up alongside, those on board anxious to 
hear all about the victory we had gained. 

Among the first was a somewhat battered-looking wherry, with a 
little wizened old man and a boy pulling. The former, catching 
sight of me as I stretched my neck through a port, throwing in his 
oar, uttered a shout of astonishment, and then, with the agility of a 
monkey, quickly clambered up the side by a rope I hove to him. 

“ What! Will, Will, is it you yourself?” exclaimed Jerry Vincent, 
wringing my hand and gazing into my face. “ We all thought you 
were far away in the East Indies, and Mistress Kelson made up her 
mind that you’d never come back from that hot region where they 
fry beefsteaks on the capstan- head.” 

“But my wife — my wife* is she well? Oh, tell me, Mr. Vin- 
cent,” I exclaimed, interrupting him. “ She expected me to come 
back.” 

“ She’s well enough, if not so hearty as we’d be wishing; for, to 
say the truth, the roses don’t bloom in her cheeks as they used to 
do.” 

I can not describe the joy and relief this reply brought to my 
heart. The gratitude which I felt made me give old Jerry a hug, 
which well-nigh pressed the breath out of his body. 

“ Why, Will, my boy, you are taking me for Mrs. Weatherhelm, ” 
he exclaimed, bursting into a fit of laughter. “ You’ll soon see her, 
and then you can hug her as long as you like, if you can get leave 
to go on shore; if not, I’ll go and bring her here as quick as I can 
pull back to the point and toddle away over to Southsea. ’ ’ 

“ Oh, no, no; I wouldn’t have her here on any account,” I an 
swered as I thought of the disreputable characters who in shoals 
would soon be crowding the decks, and who were even now wait- 
ing in the boats until they were allowed lo come on board. 

“ Tell me, Jerry, about my uncle and Aunt Bretla; how are they 
both?” 

“Hearty, though the old gentleman did take on when you were 
carried away by the press-gang. If ever I saw hjm inclined to run 
amuck, it was then. We had a hard matter, I can tell you, to pre- 
vent him from posting off to London to see the First Lord of the Ad- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


247 


miralty, to grapple him by the throat if he did not send an order 
down at once to have you liberated. I don’t know, indeed, what 
he’d have done; but at last we persuaded him that if he made up 
his mind to proceed to such extremities, the First Lord would either 
laugh in his face or order the porters to kick him down-stairs. He 
in time came to that conclusion himself, and so quieted down, ob- 
serving that you would do your duty and bear yourself like a man. ” 

4 4 I must try and get leave from the first lieutenant. He could 
not refuse me, when I tell him I was torn away from my wife, and 
I will promise to be back again at any time he may name.” 

“ You may try it, Will, but I’m not sq sure about the matter. If 
he doesn’t, why, I’d advise you to take French leave and slip into 
my wherry as soon as it’s dark. I’ll have a bit of canvas to cover 
you up, and pull you ashore in a jiffy. You can land at the yard 
of a friend of mine, not far from the point, and disguise yourself in 
shore-going toggery. Every one knows me, and I’ll get you through 
the gates; and if I’m accused of helping you off, I’ll stand the con- 
sequences. It can only be a few months in jail, and though I’d 
rather have my liberty, I can make myself happy wherever I am.” 

“ No, Jerry, I would not let you run that risk for my sake on any 
account; nor would I run it myself, much as I love my liberty and 
my wife,” I answered. “You stay here and I’ll go and ask the 
first lieutenant at once; if he refuses me now, he’ll be sure tD give 
me leave another day.” 

“ Well, go, Will — go,” said Jerry. “ I’m much afraid that your 
first lieutenant, unless he is very much unlike others I have known, 
won’t care a rap about your wife’s feelings or yours. He’ll just tell 
you it’s the same tale half the ship’s company have to tell, and if 
your wife wants to see you, she may come aboard like the rest of the 
women.” 

Without waiting to hear more of what Jerry might say, I hurried 
aft, and found the first lieutenant issuing his orders. 

“ What is it you want, my man?” he asked as I approached him, 
hat in hand. 

44 Please, sir, I’ve got a young wife ashore at Southsea, and I was 
torn away from her by a press-gang. May I have leave to go and 
see her, and I promise to be back at any time you may name.” 

44 A pressed man! — no, no, my fine fellow, no pressed men can be 
allowed out of the ship. They may take it into their heads not to 
return at all,” he answered, turning away. 

44 Pardon me, sir,” I said, “but I give you my word of honor 
that I will come back as soon as you order me.” 


248 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


He glanced round with a look of astonishment, muttering, “ Your 
word of honor! Who are you, my man?” 

“ I am a Shetlander, sir. I have been brought up to keep my 
word. Though I was pressed, I have done my duty. It was I, sir, 
who hauled down the flag of the ‘ Cleopatra ’ when we took her.” 

While he was speaking, a midshipman brought him a letter. He 
opened it, and glancing over the few lines it contained, his eye 
brightened. I stood watching, resolved not to be defeated. 

As soon as he had folded the letter and put it into his pocket, I 
again stepped up. 

“ May I go, sir?” I said. 

“Well,” he answered, smiling, “you hauled down the French- 
man’s flag. I am to have my reward, and you shall have yours. 
Y ou may go ashore, but you must be back in three days. All the 
crew will be required for putting the ship to rights, to take the 
mainmast out of her and replace it by a new one, ’ ’ and he ordered 
one of the clerks to put down my name as having leave. 

I found afterward that the letter I saw him read contained an in- 
timation that he was forthwith to be made a commander. 

In a few days the news was received that the great Earl of Chat- 
ham had presented our captain and his brother to King George, 
who had been pleased to knight our captain, and to make Com- 
mander Pellew a post-captain. 

Ho one else, that I know of, obtained any honors or rewards, 
though each man and boy received his share of prize-money, and 
with that we had no cause to complain. 

However, to go back to the moment when the first lieutenant gave 
me leave. “Thank you, sir! thank you!” I exclaimed, with diffi- 
culty stopping myself from tossing my hat for joy. 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, I rushed below, and, 
taking the things I wanted out of my bag, I tumbled into Jerry’s 
wherry. 

The old man pulled as fast as he and his boy could lay their 
backs to the oars. 

“Stop, stop, my lad! wait forme!” he exclaimed as I jumped 
ashore and was preparing to run to Southsea. “ You’ll frighten 
your wife and send her into * high strikes ’ if you pounce down upon 
her as you seem inclined to do. Wait till I go ahead and tell her to 
be looking out for you. You won’t lose much time, and prevent a 
great deal of mischief, though I can’t move along quite at the rate 
of ten knots an hour, as you seem inclined to do.” 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


249 


I at once saw the wisdom of Jerry’s advice, and waited, though 
somewhat impatiently, until he and his boy had secured the boat. 

“ Come along, Will, my lad,” he said at length, stepping ashore; 
“I’ll show you what my old legs carndo,” and off he set. 

We soon crossed the High Street, and made our way through the 
gate leading out of the town on to Southsea Common. 

The village of Southsea was but a small, insignificant place in 
those days. We had not gone far when we caught sight of a person 
with a wooden leg stumping along at a good rate some way ahead. 
Although his back was toward us, I at once felt sure that he was 
Uncle Kelson. 

“All right!” cried Jerry, “that’s Mr. Kelson. He always car- 
ries a press of sail. It couldn’t have been better. I’ll go on and 
make him heave to, and just tell him to guess who’s come back; 
but I don’t think there’s much fear of his getting the ‘ high strikes ’ 
even though he was to set eyes on you all of a sudden.” 

I brought up for a moment so as to let Jerry get ahead of me. 

“Heave to, cap’en! heave to! I ain’t a thundering big enemy 
from whom you’ve any cause to run,” I heard him shouting out. 
“Just look round, and maybe you’ll see somebody you won’t be 
sorry to see, I’ve a notion.” 

My uncle, hearing Jerry’s voice, turned his head, and instantly 
catching sight of me, came running along with both his arms out- 
stretched, his countenance beaming all over like a landscape lighted 
up by sunshine. I was somewhat fearful lest he should fall, but I 
caught him, and we shook hands for a minute at least, his voice al- 
most choking as he exclaimed, “ I am glad! I am glad! Bless my 
heart, how glad I am! And your wife, Will? You’ll soon make 
her all to rights. Not that she is ill, but that she’s been pining for 
you, poor lass; but no wonder: it’s a way the women have. Glad I 
hadn’t a wife until I was able to live on shore and look after her. 
Come along! come along!” and he took my arm, almost again fall- 
ing in his eagerness to get over the ground, which here and there 
was soft and sandy, and full of holes in other places. 

“ Please, Mr. Kelson, as I was a- telling of your nevvy, it won’t 
do just to come down on the lass like a thunder-clap, or it may 
send her over on her beam ends,” said Jerry as he ranged up along- 
side, puffing and blowing with his exertions. “ Just you stop and 
talk to him when we get near the house, and let me go ahead and 
I’ll break the matter gently, like a soft summer shower, so that 
they’ll be all to rights and ready for him when he comes.” 

Jerry, I guessed, wanted to undertake the matter himself, 


250 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


suspecting that my uncle would, notwithstanding his good inten 
tions, blurt out the truth too suddenly. 

I therefore answered for him, that we would wait till Jerry had 
gone to the house and summoned us, though I had to exert no 
small amount of resolution to stop short of the door when we got 
in sight of it. 

Jeri y ran on at first, but went more deliberately as he approached 
the door, when, knocking, he was admitted. 

He must be spinning a tremendous long yarn, I thought, for it 
seemed to me as if he had kept us half an hour, though I believe it 
was only two or three minutes, when at length he appeared and 
beckoned. 

“ Come along, Will! come along, my boy!” cried my uncle, keep- 
ing hold of my arm; but, no longer able to restrain my impatience, 
I sprung forward and, brushing past old Jerry, rushed into the 
house. 

There was my Margaret, with Aunt Bretta by her side to support 
her; but she needed no support except my arm. After a little time, 
though still clinging with her arms round my neck, she allowed me 
to embrace my good aunt. My uncle soon joined us, and Old Jerry 
poked his head in at the door, saying with a knowing nod, “All 
right, I see there’s been no ‘ high strikes.’ I shall be one too many 
if I stop. Good-day, ladies; good-day, friends all. I’ll Iook in to- 
morrow, or maybe the next evening; but I shall have plenty of work 
in the harbor, taking off people to see the prize and the ship which 
captured her. ” 

“Stop, Jerry, stop!” cried my uncle; “have a glass of grog be- 
fore you go?” 

“ Nd, thankee, cap’en,” answered Jerry. “ I must keep a clear 
head on my shoulders. If I once takes a taste, maybfe I shall want 
another as I pass the Blue Posteses.” 

Uncle Kelson did not press the point, and the old man took his 
departure. 

Of course it required a long time to tell all that had happened to 
me, but I need not describe those happy days on shore. My dear 
wife would scarcely allow me for a moment to be out of her sight. 
She once asked the question, “ Must you go back?” 

“ I have given my word that I would,” I answered. I knew 
full well what her heart wished, though she had too much regard 
for my honor even to hint at the possibility of my breaking my 
word. 

Aunt Bretta and Uncle Kelson were of the same way of thinking; 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


251 


but old Jerry, who paid us a visit the second evening according to 
his promise, looked at the matter in a very different light. 

“ Now, Will, I’ve been thinking over this here business of yours 
every day since I first clapped eyes on you, and I’ve made up my 
mind that as they had no right to press you aboard that ’ere frigate, 
you have every right to make yourself scarce. I’ve got the whole 
affair cut and dry. There’s a friend of mine who is as true as steel. 
He’s got a light cart, and we intend to bundle you in soon after 
dark, and drive away, maybe to Chichester, and maybe to some 
country place where you can lie snug till the frigate has sailed, and 
the hue and cry after you is over. 

“ It’s all as smooth as oil. There’ll only be one man less aboard, 
as there would be if a shot was to take your head off; so it can’t 
make any odds to the captain and officers. And let me tell you, 
you’ll have a different set over you; for Mr. Morris, the first lieu- 
tenant, has got his promotion. Mr. Lake is too badly wounded to 
allow him to return on board for some time, and the captain is sure 
to get a better ship; so you don’t know what double-fisted fellows 
you’ll get in their places. 

“ Follow my advice, Will; escape from all the tyranny and flog- 
gings, for what you can tell, that are in store for you. Run, and 
be a free man.” 

“ No, no, Mr. Vincent; the advice you give is well meant, but I 
dare not even ask my husband to do as you propose, ” answered 
Margaret in a firm voice, though she looked very sad as she spoke. 

‘ He would not be a happy man if he broke his word, and he has 
given that word to return. Even I can say, ‘ Go back to your 
duty.’ ” 

“ So do I,” said Uncle Kelson, “ though, if he had not given his 
word, I don’t know what I might have advised.” 

“ We can all pray for him,” said Aunt Bretta, “ and I trust that 
we shall see him again before long, when he is free and can with a 
clean conscience remain with us.” 

‘ ‘ I thank you, Jerry, for your good wishes, ” I put in. ' ‘ It can not 
be, you see. I wish I could get away from the ship; but until I am 
paid off, and properly discharged, though I was pressed, I am 
bound to remain; so if you care for me, do not say anything more 
on the subject.” 

“ Well, well, if it must be, so it must,” answered Jerry with a 
deep sigh. “ Some people’s notions ain’t like other people’s notions, 
that’s all I’ve got to say; and now I think it’s time for me to be 
tripping my anchor.” 


252 


WILL WEATHERHELM, 


“No, no, not until you have wetted your whistle,” said Uncle 
Kelson, beginning to mix a glass of grog. 

The old man’s eyes glistened as he resumed his seat, replacing his 
hat under the chair; and putting his hand out to take the tumbler 
which my uncle pushed toward him across the table, and sipping it 
slowly, he looked up and said: 

“ I forgot to tell you that Sir Edward Pellew, as we must now 
call him since he got the sword laid across his shoulders by the king, 
has been appointed to the command of the ‘ Arethusa,’ a fine new 
frigate which will make a name for herself, if I mistake not, as the 
old one did. You remember her, cap’en, don’t you? It was her 
they writ the song about,” and he began singing: 

“ Come all ye jolly sailors bold 
Whose hearts are cast in honor’s mold 
While English glory I unfold, 

Huzza to the ‘ Arethusa I’ 

She is a frigate tight and brave 
As ever stemmed the dashing wave; 

Her men are stanch to their fav’rite launch, 

And when the foe shall meet our fire, 

Sooner than strike we’ll all expire 
On board of the ‘Arethusa!’ 

“ ’Twas with the spring fleet she went out 
The English Channel to cruise about, 

When four French sail, in show so stout, 

Bore down on the ‘ Arethusa.’ 

The famed ‘ Belle Poule ’ straight ahead did lie, 

The 4 Arethusa ’ seemed to fly, 

Not a sheet or a tack or a brace did she slack, 

Though the Frenchman laughed and thought it stuff; 

But they knew not the handful of men how tough 
On board of the 4 Arethusa!’ 

44 On deck five hundred men did dance, 

The stoutest they could find in France; 

We with two hundred did advance, 

On board of the 4 Arethusa!’ 

Our captain hail’d the Frenchman 4 Ho !’ 

The Frenchman then cried out 4 Hullo 1’ 

4 Bear down, d’ye see, to our Admiral’s lee.’ 

4 No, no,’ says the Frenchman; 4 that can’t be.’ 

4 Then I must lug you along with me,’ 

Says the saucy 4 Arethusa!’ 

44 The fight was off the Frenchman’s land, 

We forced them back upon their strand, 

For we fought till not a stick would stand, 

Of the gallant 4 Arethusa.’ 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


25 3 


And now we’ve driven the foe ashore, 

Never to fight with Britons more. 

Let each fill a glass to his fav’rite lass, 

A health to our captain and officers true. 

And all who belong to the jovial crew 
On board of the * Arethusa!’ ” 

“ I mind,” continued Jerry after another sip at his grog, “ that 
she carried thirty-two guns, and was commanded by Captain Mar- 
shall. It was in the year 1778, just before the last war broke out. 
We hadn’t come to loggerheads with the mounseers, though we 
knew pretty well that it wouldn’t be long before we were that. We 
and two other frigates sailed down Channel with a fleet of twenty 
sail of the line under Admiral Keppel. 

“When off the Lizard, on the 17th of June, we made out two 
frigates and a schooner to the southward. On seeing them, and 
guessing that they were French, the admiral ordered us and the 
' Milford ’ to go in chase. The strangers separated, the ‘ Milford ’ 
frigate and ‘ Hector,’ a seventy-four, following the other ship, which 
turned out to be the ‘ Licorne, ’ and took her; while the ‘ Albert ’ 
cutter pursued the schooner, and captured her by boarding after a 
sharp struggle. We meantime alone followed the other stranger, 
which was the French forty-gun frigate ‘ Belle Poule. ’ 

“ On getting within hailing distance, our captain, in the politest 
manner possible, invited the French captain to sail back with him 
to the English fleet. 

“‘No, no,’ answered the French skipper, ‘that it can not be, 
seeing I am bound elsewhere. ’ . 

“ ‘ Then, mounseer, I must obey orders and make you come with 
me, ’ says pur captain just as politely as before, and without further 
ado he ordered the crew of the foremost main-deck gun to fire a 
shot across the French ship’s bows. It was the first shot fired dur- 
ing the war. We in return got the Frenchman’s whole broadside 
crashing aboard us. 

“ We then began pounding away at each other as close as we 
could get. It seemed wonderful to me that we were not both of us 
blown out of the water. Our men were falling pretty thickly, some 
killed and many more wounded, while our sails and rigging were 
getting much cut up. 

“ You see the enemy had twenty guns on a side to our sixteen, 
but we tossed ours in and out so sharply that we made up for the 
difference. For two mortal hours we kept blazing away, getting 
almost as much as we gave, till scarcely a stick could stand aboard 


254 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


us; but our captain was not the man to give in, and while he could 
he kept at it. At last, our rigging and canvas being cut to pieces, 
and our masts ready to fall, so that we could not make sail, the 
‘ Belle Poule ’ having had enough of it, shot ahead, and succeeded 
in getting under the land where we were unable to follow her. 

“ The song says that we drove her ashore; but though we did not 
exactly do that we knocked her well about, and she had forty-eight 
men and officers killed and fifty wounded. As it was, as I have 
said, the first action in the old war, it was more talked about than 
many others. We lost our captain, not from his being killed, but 
from his getting a bigger ship, and Captain Everitt was appointed 
in his stead. 

“ The old ‘ Arethusa,’ after this, continued a Channel cruiser. 
We had pretty sharp work at different times, chasing the enemy, 
and capturing their merchantment, and cutting out vessels from 
their harbors; but we had no action like the one the song was wrote 
about. 

‘ ‘ At last, in the March of the next year, when some fifty leagues 
or more off Brest, we made out a French frigate inshore of us. In- 
stead of standing bravely out to fight the saucy ‘ Arethusa, * she 
squared away her yards and ran for that port. We made all sail in 
chase, hoping to come up with her before she could get into harbor. 
We were gaining on her, and were expecting that we should have 
another fight like that with the ‘ Belle Poule,’ when, as we came 
in sight of the outer roads of Brest, what should we see but a 
thumping seventy-four, which, guessing what we were, slipping 
her cable, stood out under all sail to catch us. 

“We might have tackled the seventy-four alone, with a good 
breeze; but we well knew that if we did not up stick and cut we 
should either be knocked to pieces or be sent to the bottom; so our 
captain, as in duty bound, ordered us to brace up the yards and try 
to make the best of our way out of danger. We might have done 
so had there been a strong breeze blowing, but we could not beat 
the ship off shore as fast as we wanted. 

“ Night came down upon us, and a very dark night it was. We 
could not see the land, but we knew it was under our lee, when 
presently thump goes the ship ashore. Our captain did his best to 
get her off, but all our attempts were of no use. The saucy ‘ Are- 
thusa ’ was hard and fast on the rocks. 

“ The word was given to lower the boats. I was one of the first 
cutter’s crew. We had got her into the water, and the master, as 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 255 

good a seaman as ever stepped, came with us, and two young mid- 
shipmites. 

We’ll not be made prisoners if we can help it, lads,’ said the 
master. ‘ Here, lower down these two casks of bread, and this 
breaker of water.” 

“We had no time to get more, and we hoped the other boats 
would follow our example, but they would have to be sharp about 
it. We got round from under the lee of the ship, against which the 
surf was already breaking heavily, and pulled away to the wind- 
ward out to sea. You may be sure we pulled as men do who are 
pulling for their lives and liberty. If we had been a minute later 
we shouldn’t have done it. No other boats that we could see fol- 
lowed us. Next morning we were twenty miles off shore. 

“We felt very downcast at the thoughts that we had lost our 
little frigate, but were thankful to have got away from a French 
prison. We learned afterward that the captain, fearing for the 
lives of his people, sent the other boats at once to the shore, and 
establishing a communication, managed to land the whole crew, 
who were forthwith made prisoners. It was fortunate that we had 
the biscuit and water, or we should have been starved to death; for 
it was a week or more before we fell in with an English homeward- 
bound West Indiaman, when we had not a gill of liquid left, and 
not a biscuit apiece. I learned the value of water at that time, but 
I have always held to the opinion that a little good rum mixed with 
it adds greatly to its taste,” and Jerry winked at my uncle with one 
eye, and with the other looked at his tumbler, which was empty. 

Uncle Kelson mixed him another glass. 

“ Ladies both,” he said, looking round at my aunt and Margaret, 
“ here’s to your health, and may Will be with you a free man be 
fore many months are over. Maybe you haven’t heard of the ghost 
we had on board the* old ‘ Cornwall,’ some years before the time I 
am speaking of? If you haven’t. I’ll tell you about it. Did you 
ever have a ghost aboard any ship you sailed in, cap’en? Maybe 
not. They don’t seem to show themselves nowadays, as they used 
to do. 

“ Dick Carcass was the boatswain of the old ‘ Cornwall ’ when 
I served aboard her. He was a tall spare man with high shoulders 
and a peculiar walk, so that it was impossible to mistake him, meet 
him where you might. He was also a prime seaman, and had a 
mouth that could whistle the winds out of conceit. If he did use a 
rope’s end on the backs of the boys sometimes it was all for their 
own good. We were bound out one winter time to Halifax, Nova 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


256 

Scotia. It isn’t the pleasantest time of the year to be sailing across 
the North Atlantic. We had had a pretty long passage, with west- 
erly gales, which kept all hands employed. The boatswain was 
seldom off deck, and a rough life he had of it. 

“ At last, what with the hard work he had to do, and having 
been in hospital too before we sailed, he fell sick, and one night the 
doctor came out of his cabin and told us he was dead. Now our 
captain was a kind-hearted man; and as he expected to be in port 
in two or three days, instead of sewing the boatswain up in a ham- 
mock and lowering him overboard, he gave notice that he should 
keep him to give him decent Christian burial on shore, and let the 
parson pray over him, for, d’ye see, we had none aboard. To pay 
him every respect, a sentry was placed at the door of his cabin in 
the cockpit. He had been dead three or four days, and we had 
exrected to get into port in two or three at the furthest; so as the 
2 wind continued foul, and might hold in the same quarter a week 
onger, the captain, thinking the bo’sun wouldn’t keep much 
longer, at last determined to have him buried the next morning 
That night I had just gone below, and was passing close to the 
sentry, when he asked me if I couldn’t make his lantern burn 
brighter. He was a chum of mine, d’ye see. I took it down from 
the hook where it was hanging, and was trying to snuff it, when all 
of a sudden the door of Mr. Carcass’s cabin opened with a bang like 
a clap of thunder, and, as I’m a living man, I heard the bo’sun’s 
voice, for you may be sure I knew it well, shout out: 

“ ‘ Sentry, give us a light, will ye!’ 

“ Somehow or other — maybe I nipped the wick too hard — the 
candle went out, and down fell the lantern I did not stop to pick 
it up, nor did the sentry, who got the start of me, &hd off we set, 
scampering away like rats with a terrier at their tails, till we gained 
the upper step of the cockpit ladder. We then*stopped and listened. 
There were steps thundering along the deck. They came to the 
very foot of the ladder. Presently we heard something mounting 
them slowly. The sentry moved on. So did I, but looking round 
I saw as surely as I sit here, the head of old Dick Carcass’s ghost 
rising slowly above the deck. 

“We did not stop to see more of him, but walked away for’ard. 
Again we stopped, when there he was, standing on the deck— eight 
feet high he looked at least— rubbing his eyes, which glared out at 
us like balls of fire. 

“We made for the foreladder, and there thought to get out of its 
way by moving aft as fast as our legs could carry us. Presently, 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


257 


as I looked over my shoulder, I saw the ghost come up the ladder 
on to the forecastle. The men there saw him, too, for they scuttled 
away on either side, and left him to walk alone. For five minutes 
or more he kept pacing up and down the deck, just as he was ac- 
customed to do when he was alive. By this time the men were 
crowding aft, the sentry among them, when the lieutenant of the 
watch, thinking maybe there was going to be a mutiny, or some- 
thing of that sort, sings out and axes what we were about. 

“ ‘ Sir,’ answers the sentry, who was bold enough now; ‘ there’s 
the ghost of Mr. Carcass a walking the fo’cas’l. ’ 

“‘The ghost of Mr. Carcass be hanged! he is quiet enough in 
his cabin, poor man. What are all you fools thinking about?’ says 
the lieutenant. * Be off for’ard with you.’ 

“ ‘ He is there, sir! he is there! It is the bo’sun’s ghost,’ we all 
sung out, one after the other, none of us feeling inclined to go near 
him. 

“ * Blockheads!’ cried the lieutenant, beginning to get angry. 

“ ‘ It is him, sir; it is him,’ cried others. * He’s got on the hat 
and monkey-jacket he always wears. ’ 

“ The lieutenant now became very angry, and ordering us out of 
the way, boldly steps forward. When, however, he gets abreast ot 
the barge, he stops, for there he sees as clearly as we did the 
bo’sun’s tall figure pacing the deck, with his hands behind his back, 
looking for all the world just as he had done when he was alive. 

“ Now the lieutenant was as brave a man as ever stepped, but he 
did not like it, that was clear; still he felt that go on he must, and 
so on he went until he got up to the foremast, and then he sings out 
slowly, as if his words did not come up readily to his mouth : 

“ 4 Mr. Car — car-car — cass, is that you?’ 

“ ‘Sir!’ said the ghost, turning round and coming aft. 

“ ‘ Mr. Car — car — car — cass, is that you?’ again sings out the 
lieutenant. 

“ ‘ Sir!’ answers the boatswain, and he came nearer. 

“ The lieutenant stepped back, so did we, all the whole watch 
tumbling over on each other. Still facing for’ard, the gallant lieu 
tenant kept retreating, and the ghost kept coming on slowly, as ghosts 
always do, I’m told, though I can’t say as I’ve had much experience 
with those sort of gentry. At last the ghost sings out : 

“ ‘ Pardon me, Mr. Pringle, what’s the matter? have alL the peo- 
ple gone mad?’ 

“ ‘ Who are you?’ asked the lieutenant. 

9 


258 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


44 ‘ I am Richard Carcass, bo’sun of this here ship, to the best of 
my knowledge, and was never anybody else, sir.' 

“ ‘ What, ain’t you dead?’ says the lieutenant. 

“ ‘ Not that 1 knows on,’ answers the ghost. ' I was alive when 
it si ruck eight bells in the middle watch, and it’s now only just 
gone two. I take it it is the morning watch, for I heard it strike just 
before that stupid sentry put out his light, and for some reason or 
other I couldn’t make out, took to his heels.’ 

44 4 Why, the doctor said you were dead,’ says the lieutenant. 

“ 4 The doctor, then, doesn’t know a dead bo’sun from a live 
one, ’ answered Mr. Carcass. 

4 4 4 Well, I wish you’d let him see you, and hear what he’s got to 
say on the subject;’ aud he ordered the midshipman of the watch to 
call the doctor, who came on deck, grumbling not a little at being 
roused out from his berth. When he saw the bo’sun he seemed 
mighty pleased, and taking him by the hand told us all that he was 
as alive as ever he was, and advised him to turn in again and get 
some sleep, as the night was cold, and he was on the sick list. 

44 Well, ladies, that was the only ghost I ever saw. He was not 
dead either, but had been in a sort of trance, and when he heard 
two bells strike, not knowing how many days had passed since he 
had gone to sleep, he called for a light, but not getting it, he 
dressed in the dark and came on deck, thinking he ought to be 
there.” 

Jerry spun other yarns before he took his leave. He was once, 
he declared, on board a trader bound out from Ireland to the West 
Indies with butter and cheese. 44 The 4 Jane and Mary, ’ that was her 
name,” he continued. “We were off the coast of §t. Domingo, 
almost becalmed, when we made out a couple of suspicious-looking 
craft sweeping off toward us. That they were pirates we had no 
doubt. At that time those sort of gentry used to cut the throats of 
every man on board if there was the slightest resistance. 

44 Our skipper, Captain Dillon, was a determined fellow, and had 
proved himself a good seaman during the passage. 

4 4 4 Lads,’ he sung out, 4 do you wish to be taken and hove over- 
board to feed the sharks, or will you try 1o save the ship if those 
scoundrels come up to us? I’ll promise you we’ll beat them if they 
venture aboard. ’ 

4 We all answered that we were ready to stick by him, for I be- 
lieve there was not one of us that did not think we should be dead 
men before the day was an hour older. The mates promised also to 
fight to the last. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


259 


“ ‘ Be smart then, my lads, get up some of the cargo from the 
hold.’ We soon had a dozen butter casks hoisted up, knocked in 
their ends, and payed the decks, and sides, and ropes, and every 
part of the ship over with the butter. We chucked our shoes be- 
low, and got the cutlasses, boarding pikes, and pistols ready. In a 
few minutes the deck was so slippery that a man, unless without 
his shoes, could not stand upon it. We were all ready, with our 
cutlasses at our sides and tho pikes handy, to give the scoundrels a 
warm reception. Meantime the * Jane and Mary ’ did her best, as 
far as the breeze would help her, to keep moving through the water. 

“ The pirates crept up, and kept firing away at us, one on one 
quarter and one on the other. 

“ We answered them with the few guns we carried, though each 
of them had nearly twice as many as we had, while their decks were 
crowded with men. Presently they ranged up alongside, and both 
boarded together, a score or more villanous-looking rascals leaping 
down on our decks, expecting to gain an easj” victory; but they never 
made a greater mistake in their lives, and it was the last most of 
them had the chance of making. The moment their feet touched our 
deck, over they fell flat on their faces, while we with our cutlasses, 
rushing in among them, killed every mother’s son of their number. 
Others following, shouting, shrieking, and swearing, met the same 
fate; when the rest of the pirates, seeing what was happening, 
though not knowing the cause, but fancying, I suppose, that we 
had bewitched them, sheered off, and the breeze freshening we 
stood away, leaving the two feluccas far astern. Forty men lay 
dead on our decks, and not one of us was hurt. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Heave the carcasses overboard, and swab up the decks, ’ cried 
our skipper, as coolly as if nothing had happened. 

“We had a pretty job to clean the ship afterward, but we didn’t 
mind the trouble, seeing that rve had saved our lives, and the skip- 
per was well content to lose the dozen casks of butter which had 
served us so good a turn. 

“That skipper of ours had no small amount of humor in his 
composition, though it was somewhat of a grim character. Before 
we hove the bodies overboard he ordered us to cut off the heads of 
those who had fallen, forty in number, and to pickle them in the 
empty butter casks, lest, as he said, his account of the transaction 
might be disbelieved by the good people of Jamaica. 

“ We arrived safely in Kingston harbor, where the merchants 
and a lot of other persons came on b^ard. Many of our visitors, 


260 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


when they heard the skipper describe the way we had beaten off 
the pirates, looked incredulous. 

* ‘ ‘ Seeing is believing, ’ says he, and he ordered the casks which 
had been kept on deck to be opened. It was mightily amusing to 
watch the way our visitors looked at each other, when our skipper 
forthwith produced the gory heads, among which was that of the 
captain of one of the piratical craft and that of the first mate of the 
other. 

' ‘ Some of them started back with horror, as well they might, for 
the heads looked dreadful enough as they were pulled out in suc- 
cession. 

“‘There’s the whole score,’ says the skipper, as we arranged 
them along each side of the quarter-deck. ‘ Now, gentlemen, what 
have you got to say about my veracity?’ 

“After that, you may be sure the captain’s word was never 
doubted. The heads were then hove overboard, and it was said 
that Old Tom, the big shark which used to cruise about between 
Port Royal and Kingston, got the best part of them for his supper. 
I’m pretty sure he did, because for many a day after that he was 
not seen, and some thought he had died of indigestion by swallow- 
ing those pirates’ heads. Howsomdever, he wasn’t dead after all, 
as poor Bob Rattan, an old messmate of mine, found out to his cost. 
Just about two months had gone by, and Bob one evening was try- 
ing 1o swim from his ship to the shore, when Old Tom caught him 
by the leg and hauled him to the bottom. His head was washed 
ashore three days afterward, bitten clean off, a certain proof that 
Old Tom had swallowed the pirates’ heads, and not finding them 
agree with him, had left poor Bob’s alone. 

“ Taking in a cargo of sugar we sailed homeward; but I can tell 
you, till we were well clear of the West Indies we didn’t feel com- 
fortable, lest we should fall in again with the pirates, when, as we 
had no butter aboard to grease our decks, the chances were, we 
knew, that in revenge they would have cut all our throats and sent 
the ship to the bottom. 

“You see, ladies, that a man may go through no end of dangers, 
and yet come scot free out of them. So I hope will our friend 
here, and have many a yarn to spin, and that I may be present to 
hear them, although I don’t think he’ll beat mine; and now, as it’s 
getting late, I’ll wish you good-evening;” and Jerry, taking his hat 
from under the chair, shook hands with all round. 

“You won’t take my advice, then, Will?” he whispered, as he 
came to me. “Well, well, it’s a pity. Goodnight, lad, good- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


261 


night, I’ll see you aboard the ‘Nymph;’ ” and he hurried away 
across the common toward the beach where he had left his boat, 
intending to pass the night under her, as was his general custom m 
the summer. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A sad parting— I set out to rejoin my ship— How our fleet was manned— Scene 
at the Point, Portsmouth— An explosion— A narrow escape— I am transferred 
with Dick Hagger and others to the “ Culloden,” 74— A bad crew— Intelligence 
received of the sailing of the French fleet— We sail— Looking out for the 
enemy— A general chase— Lord Howe’s victory of the first of June— Behavior 
of the “ Culloden ’’—Return to England— Discontent on board our ship— The 
Lord Mayor’s men — My signature is obtained— What came of it— Mutiny 
breaks out — Among the mutineers. 

The time for which I had obtained leave came soon, far too soon, 
to an end. It seemed as if I had been but a few hours with my 
dear wife, and now I must part again from her for an indefinite 
period, how long I could not tell. I knew that while I had health 
and strength, no sum could obtain my discharge. Men were wanted 
for the service, and every effort was made to get them, while strict 
watch was kept on those who had been obtained. Press-gangs were 
sent on shore every day all along the coast wiiere there was a chance 
of picking up men. Agents even visited the mines, and people who 
had been working under ground all their lives, were suddenly trans- 
ferred to the deck of a man-of-war, and very fine seamen they made 
too, for they were hardy, intelligent fellows, and liked the change, 
and no wonder. 

Captain Nelson, and other officers, had thus picked up from the 
Cornish mines a number of prime seamen. However, as I was say- 
ing, the time came for me to part from my wife and my kind uncle 
and aunt. I would not let Margaret accompany me on board, though 
she wanted to do so, for the reason I have before stated. She and 
Uncle Kelson, however, came with me down to Ihe Point, where 
Jerry had promised to be on the lookout to take me on board. Even 
there the scene was such as it must have pained any right-minded 
woman to witness. 

Drunken seamen and marines, and women, and Jews, and crimps, 
all crowded together so that it was difficult to get through the surg- 
ing mass of human beings, many of them fighting and wrangling 
and swearing, while the Jews were trying to sell their trumpery 
wares to such of the poor ignorant sailors as had any money left in 


2G2 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


their pockets, and the more sober of the men were endeavoring to 
lift their tipsy shipmates into the boats. 

I led Margaret back up the street: “ Go home with uncle, dear- 
est,” I said, “ I can not be happy with you in this fearful crowd. 
The sooner you are out of Portsmouth the better. ’ 

Uncle Kelson took her arm, and led her along the street, while 1 
hurried back to the Point, for I had not many minutes to spare, as 
I would not have been a moment behind-hand on any account. 

I remember seeing an old Irishwoman with a pipe in her mouth, 
seated on one of several casks placed close together in the middle of 
the Point. I fought my way through the crowd, and seeing Jerry’s 
wherry, jumped into her, begging him at once to shove off as I was 
late. He and his boy pulled away; but scarcely had we got half a 
dozen fathoms from the Point when there was a dreadful explosion. 
Flames burst up from the midst of the crowd, arms and legs and 
human bodies were lifted into Ihe air, while others were shot out 
into the water or on board the boats, while fearful shrieks and 
screams rose from the scene of the catastrophe. Almost immedi- 
ately afterward not a single person could be seen standing on the 
Point, but many lay there dead, or fearfully mangled. Boats full 
of people were pulling away from the spot, and the rest of the crowd 
were flying up toward the street. 

It turned out that the old Irishwoman I had noticed seated on the 
cask, not dreaming that it contained gunpowder, had shaken out 
the ashes from her pipe on it. How the casks of powder came to be 
left there is more than I can say. All I know is, that great careless- 
ness prevailed in all departments of the navy in those days, and it’s 
only a wonder that more accidents did not occur. 

Numbers of persons were killed by the explosion, others were 
dreadfully mutilated, and scarcely a scrap of the old woman herself 
could be discovered. I felt grateful to Heaven that my dear wife 
and uncle had escaped. Had they come on with me, we should 
have been close to the spot and among the sufferers. I could not go 
back, though Jerry wanted to do so, as I had to be on board by 
noon, and there were but a few minutes to get alongside the ship. 

I reported myself to the first lieutenant as having come on board. 

“ Very well,” he said, and just then it struck eight bells. I had 
not been long on board.when I heard it reported that the “ Nymph ” 
was to go into dock, and that the crew would be turned over to 
other ships wanting hands. It was but too true, and I found that 
Dick Hagger, I, and others were to be transferred to the ‘ ‘ Cullo- 
den,” 74, forming one of the Channel fleet, under Earl Howe, and 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


263 


then commanded by Captain Schomberg. She was soon ready for 
sea, and we went out to Spithead, where the ships were rapidly col- 
lecting. I had never seen so many men -of- war together, for there 
were thirty-four sail of the line, eight frigates, and smaller vessels. 

No leave was granted, so I could not get on shore, for we were to 
be ready to start at a moment’s notice, directly intelligence should 
arrive from the numerous cruisers off the French coast that the Brest 
fleet had put to sea. 

We had a mixed crew, and a- bad lot many of them were — jail- 
birds, smugglers, who were good, however, as far as seamanship 
was concerned, longshore men, and lord mayor’s men, picked up 
from the London streets, the only difference between the two last 
being that the latter hid tails to their coats — one slip of the tailor 
made them both akin — and we dubbed them or king’s hard 

bargains. Then we had a lot of ordinary seamen, and very ordinary 
they were. We A.B.’s were in the minority by a long chalk. Lastly 
came the marines; they were mostly steady men, and, as they had 
been at sea before, were better sailors than the ordinary seamen, be- 
sides which they knew their duty and did it. Without them I am 
very- sure the crew could never have been kept under. 

Flogging was the order of the day; scarcely a morning passed but 
we had two or three triced up, and the boatswain’s mates swore 
that they had never worn out so many cats-o’ -nine-tails before. 

I don’t know that it was the officers’ fault, for they knew no bet- 
ter way of maintaining discipline. It was because some hundreds 
of men, few of whom had ever served on board a man-of-war, were 
brought -together. 

I' had been on board some days when I caught sight of a face I 
knew too well; it was that of Charles Iffley. I was certain it was 
him, though when I inquired I found that he had entered under the 
name of Charles Trickett. 

I saw him start when he first recognized me, but he kept out of 
my way, and 1 had no wish to speak to him. His presence, I feared, 
boded me no good. Whether his feelings of revenge were satisfied, 

I could nol tell; but if not, 1 was veiy sure that he would wreak 
them on my head if he could. 

During the early spring, merchant vessels of all sizes, but mostly 
large ones, kept coming in until nearly a hundred were assembled, 
when the whole fleel, including men-of-war, amounted to one hun- 
dred and forty-eight sail— three being of a hundred guns, four of 
ninety-eight, while a large number were seventy-fours. The mer- 


264 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


chantmen were bound out either to the West Indies or Newfound- 
land, and some of the men-of-war were intended to convoy them. 

At last, on the 2d of May, a frigate came in with the news that 
the Brest fleet had put to sea. We immediately made sail from St. 
Helen’s and stood down Channel. 

Besides looking out for the French fleet, which Lord Howe had 
determined to attack, we had to see the merchantmen clear of the 
Channel, and besides that to try and intercept a French convoy 
coming from America, said to consist of three hundred and fifty sail, 
‘laden with provisions and stores, the produce of the West Indian 
islands, of which the French Republic stood greatly in need. 

On arriving off the Lizard, eight of the large ships and six of the 
frigates were detached to see the merchantmen clear of the latitude 
of Cape Finisterre, while the Channel fleet , thus reduced to twenty- 
six sail of the line, besides seven frigates and smaller vessels, stood 
for Ushant. Before long the frigates made the signal that the 
French fleet were at sea. 

We after this kept cruising up and down looking for them, though 
our admiral knew that many of the ships were far larger than ours, 
but our numbers were equal. 

To describe all that took place is more than I can do/ I know 
that it was on the 28th of May that the admiral heard through some 
prizes which had been taken that the French fleet of which he was 
in search were close to us. 

Soon after sunrise we made them out bearing down toward us 
with topgallant sails set. The signal was at once thrown out by 
the admiral to prepare for battle. It was a fine sight to see them 
coming down upon us; but though there was a strong breeze blowing 
and a heavy sea on, they did not near us as fast as we had expected, 
and we were ordered to go to dinner. It was the last many a fine 
! fellow on board some of the ships was to take, but I do not believe 
that any oue, on account of the thoughts of the coming battle, eat a 
worse meal than usual. 

Greatly to our disappointment, a short time after we returned on 
deck, the French fleet were seen making off, but our spirits revived 
when Lord Howe threw out the signal for a general chase, followed, 
almost immediately afterward, by another to engage the enemy’s 
ships as soon as we should arrive up with them. Only our leading 
ships were, however, abledo do so, and we saw them blazing away 
at the Frenchmen till night closed in on us. 

The “ Audacious ” got most fighting, and being terribly knocked 
about, was nearly taken by the enemy. She gave as much as she 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


265 


received, and so battered the “ Revolutionnaire ” that the French 
ship had to be taken in tow by one of her own frigates. 

Next day we had some more fighting, much in the same fashion 
as on the first, but more severe, several of our ships having lost their 
topmasts and yards, and two or three of the French being com- 
pletely disabled. 

Thus we kept maneuvering for two days, till, to our great disap- 
pointment, we lost sight of the French fleet during the night of the 
last of May. We had been standing to the westward, when at day- 
break on the first of June, latitude 47° 48' north, longitude 18° 80'- 
west, the wind a moderate breeze, south by west, and the sea toler- 
ably smooth, we descried the French fleet, carrying a press of sail 
about six miles off on our starboard or lee bow, and steering in a 
line of battle on the larboard tack. At 5 a.m. our ships by signal 
bore up together and steered north-west. At about 7 a.m., we hav- 
ing again hauled to the wind on the larboard task, plainly saw the 
French fleet, consisting of twenty-six sail of the line, the whole, 
with the exception of one or two, complete in their masts and rig- 
ging. 

Shortly after this we saw the welcome signal flying, ordering us 
to breakfast, and as soon as it was over, the still more welcome one 
to bear down on the enemy. The next signal throwij out was fcr 
each ship to steer for and independently engage the ship opposite to 
her in the enemy’s line, the " Caesar ” leading the van. The " Bel- 
lerophon,” or Billy Ruffian, as she used to be called, followed her; 
next came the "Leviathan.” We were about the thirteenth in 
line. The ships of both fleets were carrying single-reefed topsails. 
Of those of the French, some were lying to, and others backing and 
filling to preserve their stations. We were steering about north-west, 
with a fresh breeze- south by west, and going little more than five 
knots an hour. 

We were standing on, every ship keeping regularly in line, when 
what was the disgust of the true men on board the " Culloden ” to 
hear the captain give the order to back the fore and main topsails, 
three other ships having done the same, though we were not even 
yet within range of the enemy’s guns. We soon, however, saw the 
admiral speaking with his signals, and ordering us to make more 
sail. Our brave old chief was at the same time setting top-gallant 
sails, and letting fall his foresail in order that the " Queen Char- 
lotte ” might be first through the enemy’s line. In a short time 
that noble ship was engaged single-handed with three of the enemy, 
for neither the "Gibraltar” nor the "Brunswick” were near 


266 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


enough to aid her. She was opposed to one French hundred and 
twenty-gun ship, and two of eighty guns. In a short time, down 
came her fore-topmast, followed shortly afterward by her main- 
topmast, while so damaged were her lower yards and rigging, that 
she was almost unmanageable. Notwithstanding this, she kept blaz- 
ing away, till she beat off the two eighty-gun ships, which made their 
escape, and had now only the biggest opposed to her. 

The action had now become general, a few of our ships had cut 
their way through the French line, and engaged the enemy to lee- 
ward; the remainder hauled up to windward and opened their fire, 
some at a long, others at a more effectual distance. I am sorry to 
say the ‘ ‘ Culloden ’ ’ was among the former. Perhaps our captain 
thought, with his undisciplined crew, that it would be hazardous to 
venture alongside an enemy’s ship. He was wrong if he thought 
so. Bad as our fellows were, we had enough good men to load and 
fire the guns, and the other's were able at all events to haul them in 
and run them out again. It was impossible to see what was taking 
place. Each captain had to act for himself, and the greater number 
were doing their duty nobly. The “ Brunswick ” for some time 
was hooked by her anchors alongside a French ship, which she al- 
most knocked to pieces. Another, coming up to rescue her friend, 
received so tremendous a fire that her three masts were speedily cut 
away by the board. 

One ship after another of the French struck, and several were 
almost dismasted. Of these,, four were recovered by the French 
admiral, who now stood away to the northward, leaving Earl Howe 
in possession of six line-of-battle ships which had been captured. 
The victory was an important one, for although many of oui ships 
had suffered severely, we had not lost one, while besides the six we 
had taken from the French, we had fearfully knocked about a large 
number of others. 

The old earl, as far as I know, made no complaint of the way in 
which some of the ships had disobeyed his orders and kept out of 
action. We in the “Culloden,” who knew what ought to have 
been done, felt ashamed of ourselves, that’s all I can say. 

As soon as the worst damages could be repaired, the whole fleet 
made sail and stood up Channel, steering for Spithead, where we 
arrived early on the morning of the 13tli, and brought up with our 
six prizes. 

I felt very little of the enthusiasm which animated most of the 
thousands of visitors who came off to see us; but many were mourn- 
ers, anxious to obtain information of the loved ones they had lost, 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


267 

and others to see their wounded relatives and friends groaning in 
pain below. My great desire was to let my wife know that I had 
escaped, and I was very thankful when Jerry Vincent came along- 
side, and I was able to dispatch a letter by him, he promising to de- 
liver it immediately, and to tell her that I looked well and hearty. 

A few days afterward the king and queen came down to Ports- 
mouth, and went on board the “ Queen Charlotte,” to present the 
old admiral — for he was then seventy years of age — with a diamond- 
hilted sword, and to hang a gold chain round his neck. They then 
dined with him, and returned on shore in the evening. One of the 
vice-admirals was made Lord Graves, and the other Viscount Brid- 
port. The rear-admirals were created baronets, and the first lieu- 
tenant of every line of battle ship in the action was made a com- 
mander. The rest got empty thanks, and a small share of prize 
money, which was spent by the greater number of the men the first 
time they got ashore, so that the grog-sellers, lodging-house keepers, 
and Jews, benefited chiefly by that. The ships which had suffered 
went into Portsmouth harbor to refit; but as the Culloden ” had 
no honorable wounds to show, we were kept at Spitliead, and no 
leave was granted. 

The men grumbled and growled, complaining that they were ill- 
treated, and that it was not their fault that they had not taken a 
more active part in the battle. The captain and officers best knew 
the reason why, and they also were out of sorts, for they heard it 
whispered that they had shown the white feather. They conse- 
quently, being out of temper, bullied us, and we were kept at work, 
exercising at the guns, and making and shortening sail. 

Our former captain being removed, Captain Thomas Trowbridge, 
well known as a good officer, took command of the ship, and we 
put to sea for a cruise. 

The state of the crew, however, had become too bad to be amend- 
ed in a hurry. Discontent of all sorts prevailed on board. , 

As we lay at Spithead, one day Hagger came to me and said : 

“ Will, I don’t like the look of things, there’s something going to 
happen. The men complain that the provisions are bad, and we 
don’t get fresh meat and vegetables from shore as we ought, and 
there’s no leave given, flogging goes on just as it did before, and 
that our present captain is as severe as the last. There’s a knot of 
them got together, and they are plotting somelhing. That fellow, 
Charles Trickett, is at the bottom of it, though he takes good care 
not to be too for ward. They have won a good many men over, and 


268 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


they tried to win me, but I’m not going to run my head into a noose 
to make bad worse.” 

“ I know all you tell me,” I replied, “ except that I was not aware 
there was any plotting going on. No one has spoken to me, and 
Trickett is the last person to do so, though he would be ready to get 
me into a scrape if. he could. I don’t think they would be mad 
enough to attempt anything when they must know what w r ould be 
the upshot. The leaders will be taken, and either flogged round the 
fleet, or hung at the yard-arm. I’m glad that you’ve kept clear, 
Dick.” 

Next day a man I had seldom spoken to came up while I was 
writing a letter to my wife, and asked me to put my name to a paper 
which he said wanted a witness, and he could not find any man just 
then who could sign his name. He was one of the lord mayor’s 
men, but notwithstanding by this time had become a pretty smart 
hand. He had been a pickpocket or something of that sort in the 
streets of London, and always spoke of himself as being a gentle' 
man, and was fond of using fine language. 

“You’ll render me an essential service, Weatherlielm, if you’ll 
just do as I request. Here is the paper,” and he produced a large 
sheet folded up. “ You’ll see me write my name, and you’ll just 
write yours as a witness under it. There’s the word ‘ witness,’ you 
see, in pencil, you need not cover it up.” 

He wrote down his own name as Reginald Berkeley, and I at- 
tached my signature. 

“ Thank you extremely,” he said, taking up the paper before I 
had time, notwithstanding what he said, to write down the word, 
“ witness,” which I knew ought to be in ink. “ That is all I re- 
quire. It may, I hope, be the means of bringing me a nice little 
income of a thousand a year or so, to which I am entitled if I obtain 
my rights, as my solicitor tells me I am sure to do. I’ll not forget 
you, Will, depend upon it. You shall come and stay with me at a 
snug little box I own down at Richmond — that is to say, as soon as 
I come into possession of it, for I have not, properly speaking, got it 
yet^or if you want a few pounds at any time they are at your 
service. Thank you, thank you, go on with your letter. 1 must 
apologize for interrupting you;” and putting the paper in his 
pocket, he walked away. 

I thought no more about the matter, and having finished and 
closed my letter, went on deck to get it sent on shore, as I knew my 
wife Avould be anxiously expecting to hear from me. 

A short time after this another fellow, very much the same sort 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


269 


of man as Berkeley, as he called himself, addressed me, and invited 
me to come forward and take a glass of grog with him. 

“ I’ve got a little store of liquor of my own, and I like to share it 
with honest fellows like you, Weatherhelm,” he said. “ You and 
I haven’t had much talk together, but I have heard of you from 
Hagger and others, and seen what a prime seaman you are. ’ ’ 

“ I'm much obliged to you, Pratt,” I answered, for that was his 
name, ‘ ‘ but I am not overfond of spirits, and never take a glass 
except when they are served out, and even then* I had as soon, on 
most occasions, go without it as have it.” 

“I dare say you are right,” answered Pratt, “there’s nothing 
like keeping a cool head on your shoulders; we want cool heads 
now to guide us. You see we have been barbarously treated, and I 
am sure you will agree that we ought to get our rights, if we are 
worthy of being called men. I am told that some of the best hands 
in the ship have made up their minds on the subject, and they have 
asked me to join them; but I want to know what your opinion is, 
for I do not suppose, as you are a fellow of spirit, that you’ll be 
hanging back. ’ ’ 

I guessed what he was driving at, and was cautious in what I 
said. I advised him not to join any mad attempt to gain by force 
what he called our rights, saying that I had made up my mind to 
have nothing to do with anything of the sort. On this I endeavored 
to get clear of him, but he stuck to me, and managed somehow or 
other to lead me among a knot of men who were all talking eagerly 
together. Several of them spoke to me, and one of the party began 
to go on much in the same strain that Pratt had done. As he held 
me fast by the arm I could not get away from him without using 
violence, and that I did not want to use. The men were talking 
away, many of them together, speaking of their grievances, and 
complaining of the treatment they had received. Some swore that 
they had been flogged unjustly for things they had never done, 
others complained of their leave being stopped, some of the badness 
of their provisions, others of the tyranny of the officers, and the 
hard work they had to do. I made no observation, for I did not 
wish to have myself mixed up with them. 

There was some truth in what they said, but a great deal of ex- 
aggeration, and I observed that the King’s Hard Bargains were the 
very men to make most to do of what they suffered. Except that I 
had escaped a flogging, and being an able seaman never had to per- 
form what is called dirty work, I had to suffer as much as any of 
them. 


270 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


All this time, neither Trickett, or rather Charles Iffley, nor the 
fellow who called himself Reginald Berkeley, had appeared among 
us. 

They came at last, as if sauntering by, and joining in, asked the 
men what they were talking about. Several again went over the 
list of their grievances. 

“ It’s not to be borne!” cried Iffley. 

“ I should think not!” exclaimed Berkeley; “ I’ve heard tell of a 
crew taking the ship from their officers, and sailing away, either to 
live the life of free rovers of the ocean, or to carry her into some 
foreign port where they have sold her for a large sum of money, 
and divided the profits among themselves. I don’t say this is what 
we should do, or what we should be compelled to do, if things 
don’t mend.” 

Soon after Berkeley had spoken half a dozen of the most ruffianly 
fellows in the ship, two of whom boasted of the murders they had 
committed — others had been smugglers or pirates for what I know — 
came among us, and proposed that we should begin work that very 
night. 

“ Now is our opportunity,” they said. “ The captain is on shore, 
so are many of the officers, including the lieutenant of marines.” 

I soon found that matters had proceeded much further than I 
had supposed, and that Berkeley and Pratt had spoken to me merely 
to try and get me to join them, their plans being already formed. 
Still, what those plans were I could not tell, or I ought, I con- 
sidered, to go aft and tell the first lieutenant. If I went now he 
would think that I had got hold of some cock-and-bull story, and 
very likely take no notice, while, should the mutineers suspect me, 
1 might have been knocked on the head and have been hove over- 
board by them in revenge. 

I told Hagger. however, what I feared. He acknowledged that 
he had been spoken to on the subject, but did not think it would 
be wise, without more certain information, to take any steps in the 
matter. 

The long evening drew on, the hammocks were piped down as 
usual, and the watch below pretended to turn in; but I observed 
that they merely kicked off their shoes, and slipped under the 
blankets all standing. 

It had just gone four bells in the first watch, when every man 
turned out of his hammock. The watch on deck came springing 
down below and immediately unshipped the ladders. While some 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 27 1 

were engaged in lashing up the hammocks, others rushed aft and 
secured the warrant and petty officers. 

Another daring band made their way down to the magazine, took 
out a quantity of ammunition, and as many muskets and toma- 
hawks as they could lay hands on. They then set to work to form 
a barricade across the deck between the bits with the hammocks, 
and shifted the two second guns from forward, which they loaded 
with grape and canister, and pointed them toward the hatchway. 
Hunting about, I found Dick Hagger, and he agreed with me that 
we should try to get on deck; but the ladders being unshipped, we 
had no means of doing so, and several of the men, seeing what we 
were about, swore that they would cut us down if we made the at- 
tempt. There were several others who also wished to escape, and 
observing what we had been trying ^o do, came and joined us. I 
saw a few marines among the mutineers, but the larger body of the 
“ jollies,” on turning out of their hammocks, retreated aft with 
their sergeants and corporals; but as the guns were pointed at them, 
they could do nothing. 

The whole lower part of the ship was thus in possession of the 
mutineers, together with the magazine, stores, and water, though 
they could not prevent the officers from getting away or sending on 
shore to give information of what had occurred. 

All night long things continued in this state. No one slept. 
Councils were held among the men, who swore that until their 
grievances were redressed they would not give in, and they would 
rather, if force were used, blow the ship up, and go to the bottom. 
There was nothing to prevent them doing this except their unwilling- 
ness to destroy themselves. There were some daring spirits among 
them, but the greater part had cowardly hearts. They thus fortu- 
, nately took half measures. They might have destroyed all the 
] officers, overpowered the marines, and carried the ship off. They 
knew well enough, however, that there was not a man among them 
capable of navigating her, and that there was a great chance that 
they would run her ashore before they got away from St. Helen’s. 
They were sure also that there was not an officer who would have 
taken charge of her, even if they had held a pistol to his head to try 
and compel him to navigate the ship. 


272 


WILL WEATHERHELH. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A long night— An attempt to escape— Threats of my shipmates— Three admirals 
visit the ship— Interview with the mutineers— Refusal to give in— Holding 
out— Captain Pakenham addresses the men— Returning to duty— I am taken 
as a mutineer— A waiting trial— Conduct of the ringleaders— The court-mar- 
tial— My signature produced in evidence against me— A plot to destroy me 
frustrated— Captain Pakenham proves my friend— Examination of Dick 
Hagger on my behalf— I am acquitted— Execution of the mutineers. 

I have spent many a trying night, waiting anxiously for day, but 
this was as trying as any. It was, if I recollect rightly, the 3d or 
4th of December. When at length the morning broke, the muti- 
neers seemed as determined as ever. At last it was proposed to let 
the warrant and petty officers go on deck. On hearing this, Hagger 
and I with a few others crept along to the after-hatchway, pretend- 
ing that our object was merely to ship the ladder to allow the 
officers to reach the upper deck. The officers hurried up as fast 
as they could, glad to get away out of the power of the mutineers. 
Several of the men followed them, and Hagger and I had got our 
feet on the ladder, when we were seized hold of and dragged back, 
and the ladder was again unshipped. 

Ten or twelve of the men had made themselves most active, and 
were looked upon as the ringleaders of the conspiracy, Berkeley 
and Pratt being among the number; but Iffley, if he had really 
been at the bottom of the affair, pretended to be led by the others. 
Whenever he spoke he counseled mild measures, though he man- 
aged, some way or other, that they should not be adopted. 

Having command of the store-rooms, the mutineers served out 
among those below as many provisions as were required. Dividing 
themselves into two watches, one stood guard with fifty or sixty 
muskets, and the guns pointed aft, while the rest either slept or sat 
on deck and smoked. 

There were hot discussions as to what should be done, and occa- 
sionally there were quarrels, for enough grog was served out to ex- 
cite the men’s spirits; but the ringleaders took care that they should 
get no more, for if once drunkenness began they were aware that 
they would very speedily be overpowered. In the course of the 
afternoon the first lieutenant hailed down the after- hatchway, say- 
ing that three admirals whom we all knew had come on board to 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


hear what grievances we had to complain of, and to endeavor to 
redress them. 

On hearing this the ringleaders went aft, each man armed with a 
musket, a tomahaw r k or cutlass by his side, looking as brazen-faced 
and impudent as could be, trusting to the numbers at their backs. 

Among the officers who addressed us were Lord Bridport and 
Admiral Cornwallis. Lord Bridport inquired, in a kind way, what 
the mutineers had to complain of, and pointed out the folly and 
wickedness of their proceedings. “ What would become of our 
country if other ships were to follow your bad example, my lads?” 
he asked. “ The honor and glory of England, of which you are so 
justly proud, would be humbled in the dust, and we should have 
the Frenchmen coming over to England with their guillotine and 
their Republican notions, and the ruin of all we hold dear would be 
the consequence. But I am not afraid of that. I know English 
seamen too well to suppose for a moment that others would imitate 
you. They may have grievances to complain of, but would disdain 
to adopt the mode you have of showing your dissatisfaction.” 

Admiral Cornwallis spoke in a more indignant strain. “Iam 
ashamed of you, lads,” he exclaimed; “ you call yourselves British 
seamen, and yet upset all discipline, and act the part of rascally 
buccaneers who turn against their officers the moment they have 
anything to complain of.” He said a good deal more in, the same 
strain, but the’ men would scarcely listen to him. Some of them 
shouted out together what they wanted, but even on those points 
they were not all agreed. 

Are you going to return to your duty, lads?” asked Admiral 
Bridport at last. 

“ No, we are not,” shouted several of the men. “ We don’t re- 
turn to our duty until we get our rights.” 

On this the admirals walked away, and we saw them shortly . 
afterward, through the ports, leaving the ship for Portsmouth. 

The second night went by much as the first had done. The 
mutineers, numbering about two hundred and fifty men, retained 
possession of the lower deck,- and would allow no one to come down, 
and none of the better-disposed men whom they doubted, to go up # 
Hagger and I, with ethers, were thus kept prisoners. They had 
opposed to them the commissioned, warrant, and petty officers, all 
the marines except six, who, silly fellows, had been persuaded to 
join them, and about thirty seamen who had managed to escape on 
deck. They might thus quickly have been subdued by force, but 
then the lives of many on both sides must have been sacrificed; and 


274 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


if once blood had been shed, the mutineers, knowing that they 
fought with ropes round their necks, would have struggled desper- 
ately to the last, and would very likely have blowm the ship up 
when they found all hope had gone. At length the watch off duty 
lay down on deck to sleep, for they had used all the hammocks to 
form a barricade. Hagger and I followed their example, hoping 
that next morning they would come to a better state of mind; but 
we were mistaken, and all day they held out, just as they had done 
before, and so they did the next and the next. 

At last two or three of the petty officers, who were the least ob- 
noxious, came and asked them to allow water and provisions to be 
got up, saying “ that if those below were badly off in one way, they 
themselves were worse off in another, as neither had come off from 
the shore, and they were pretty well starving. ” 

Though some of the ringleaders would have prevented this if they 
could, the greater part of the men were ready enough to let those 
on deck have provisions, and accordingly they set to w r ork and sent 
up whatever was wanted. 

Though they did this they seemed as resolved as ever to resist. 
The heavy guns and small-arms were kept loaded, and some of the 
ringleaders talked as big as ever, but I saw that the greater number 
were getting heartily weary of their confinement and their state of 
uncertainty. The authorities must have well known that this 
would be the case. At last, on the morning of the lltli, word was 
received that Captain Pakenham (with whom a good many of the 
men had served) wanted to speak to them. 

Coming to the hatchway, he addressed the men in firm but gentle 
terms. I forget exactly what he said, but I know it at once had a 
good effect with many of them, notwithstanding that the ringleaders 
tried to persuade them to hold out longer. 

I was trying to persuade some of my shipmates to listen to what 
Captain Pakenham was saying, and to return to their duty, when 
Berkeley and Pratt, seizing hold of me, swore that they would shoot 
me through the head if I uttered another word, and dragged me 
forward. 

At the same moment Hagger, who had been nearer the hatchway, 
with some of the better-disposed men, getting hold of the ladders, 
suddenly shipped them, and sprung up on deck, followed by nearly 
the whole of the rest of the crew, who were glad of the opportunity 
of escaping, as c they hoped, from the consequences they had brought 
upon themselves. Only nine besides myself remained below, in- 
cluding Trickett and the two men I have spoken of. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


275 


Captain Pakenham at once asked the men who had escaped, if 
they were prepared to return to their duty, and in one voice they 
declared that they were. He had before taken his measures, and 
the marines, who were drawn up ready to act, coming down the 
ladder, made a rush forward. 

Three or four of the more desperate of the ringleaders sprung to 
the guns, with the intention of firing them; but before they had 
time to do so the marines, forcing their way over the barricade, 
seized every man they could find, I being among the number. 

As two of them got' hold of me I assured them that I had been 
prevented from the first by force from going on deck, and that I 
had not joined the mutineers. They laughed at my assertion, and 
I was dragged along the deck and brought before Captain Paken- 
ham. 

Though he had spoken mildly enough to the other men he was 
stern when addressing us, and being speedily handcuffed, we were 
committed to the charge of the lieutenant-at-arms, and placed under 
a guard of marines. 

I begged Captain Pakenham to listen to me, asserting as before 
that I had never joined the mutineers, and called upon Hagger and 
the others to bear witness to the truth of what I said. 

Hagger, stepping out from among the men drawn up on either 
side of the deck, declared that what I said was the truth that we 
had both tried to escape from the first, but had been prevented; and 
that, as the officers knew, I w T as among the best- conducted men in 
the ship. 

“ All you have to say will be heard at the trial, which will, de- 
pend upon it, be held in a few days,” answered Captain Pakenham. 
** You were found among ti e ringleaders, who refused, when sum- 
moned at the last, to come up and return to their duty; you must 
therefore, meantime, abide by the consequences.” 

Ho words can describe the grief and dismay I felt, not on my own 
account, but lest my wife and uncle and aunt should hear what had 
happened. They would be confident that I was innocent, but at 
the same time they would know the risk I ran of being inculpated 
with the guilty. How could I prove that I had taken no part in 
the mutiny? I had been below all the time, and except on the evi- 
dence of Hagger, I could not prove that I had made any attempt to 
escape. His evidence, indeed, might not be of any value, as he 
had been with me, and had himself remained below. I had been 
found with the ringleaders, and very probably two such utter 
scoundrels as were Berkeley and Pratt would not, unless it could 


276 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


benefit themselves, be induced to confess that they had kept me 
back by force. 

I entreated to be supplied with paper and pen and ink, that I 
might write to Uncle Kelson to tell him what had happened, and 
beg him to break the news to Margaret, as also to ask him if he 
could procure legal advice; but the booh was refused me, and I was 
told that before the trial I should not be allowed to hold communi- 
cation with anybody. 

The prisoners in vain tried to keep up their spirits. Most of them 
soon broke down altogether, and sat with their heads bent, resting 
on their manacled hands, except two desperate fellows who had 
long faced death in every form, and were not afraid of him now, 
though they well knew what the punishment of their crime must 
be. Men were hung for lesser crimes than theirs, and the mainte- 
nance of discipline being the great object cf the authorities, they 
were not likely to be let off. 

So great was the agony of my mind that I thoughl I should go 
mad. At last I dropped into a dreamy state, my great wish being 
that the day of the trial should come on. Had I been called to 
suffer alone I should not have complained, but it was the thought 
of the trouble, the distress and sorrow it would be to Margaret and 
my uncle and aunt, to hear that I had died an ignominious death at 
the yard-arm, assured though they might be of my innocence, 
which caused me the greatest grief. 

At last, on the 15th of December, several admirals and captains 
assembled to hold a court-martial on board the “ Culloden,” and we 
ten men, accused of mutiny, were brought up for trial. It was 
quickly proved that four of our number had been captured while at- 
tempting to fire the guns behind the barricade, and that the whole 
of us had been found below when the rest of the ship’s company 
had returned to their duty. We were asked singly what we could 
say for ourselves. 

Trickett was the first who spoke. He pleaded that he had been 
led away by others, that he did not know their object, and had no 
idea that matters would have proceeded to extremities. 4 4 1 wished 
to see my shipmates righted, but I should have advised them, had 
.they allowed me, to employ only legal means. As a proof that I 
was not one of the ringleaders permit me to present this paper which 
came into my possession, and which, as you will see, does not con- 
tain my name. ’ ’ 

As he spoke, he produced a paper, and presented it. to the presi- 
dent, who, after glancing over it, read it aloud. It began, I re- 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


277 


member, “We, the undersigned, bind ourselves to hold fast to each 
other, and to take all the means in our power to obtain our rights, 
and have our grievances redressed; we resolve that no consideration 
shall hinder us, and that if our petition is not listened to, we will 
take possession of the ship, and carry her over to the French.” The 
paper wound up with terrible oaths, calling God to witness that 
nothing should make them give up their object. 

“I see by the names attached to this precious document, ’ ’ said 
the president, “ that they are all those of the prisoners on trial, with 
the exception of that of the man who handed it in, which doesn’t 
appear, ’ ’ and he slowly read out the names. Among the last was 
that of Pratt, then came that of Reginald Berkeley, and lastly, to 
my horror and dismay, was my own. 

“ I never signed that paper!” I exclaimed; “ nothing should have 
induced me to put my hand to it.” 

“ Can you swear that your name is not Willand Wetherliolm, and 
that this is not your signature?” asked the president, and the paper 
was shown me. 

“ That is my name, and that is my signature, but I didn’t put it 
to any document of that sort. I was writing a letter to my wife, 
just before the mutiny broke out, when the man whose name ap- 
pears above mine, came and asked me to put my name as a witness 
to his signature, stating that it was required for legal purposes, in 
order to enable him to obtain a property to which he was entitled. ’ ’ 

“A likely story,” observed one of the members of the court. 

“ Reignald Berkeley, as you call yourself, is this man’s story cor- 
rect? Did you ask him to witness your signature for such a pur- 
pose as he states?” 

I saw Iffley and Berkeley exchange glances. 

“ I don’t remember the circumstance, my lord,” he answered with 
the greatest effrontery. “ I know that the paper was passed round 
for signature, and that I put my name to it; and I suppose Weth- 
erholm put his, knowing what was written above it.” 

When again allowed to speak, I once more acknowledged that the 
signature was mine, but that through carelessness, not having 
looked at the document, which was doubled back, I had simply 
acceded to Berkeley’s request to sign as a witness. 

“The word ‘witness’ was written in pencil at the time, and I 
was about to write over it in ink when I was interrupted, ” I said. 

The president examined the paper through his spectacles, but 
declared that he could see no traces of any pencil marks. It was 


278 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


passed round to two or three other officers, who agreed with his 
lordship. 

At last it was handed to Captain Pakenham, who, holding it up 
against the light, produced a magnifying-glass from his pocket, 
through which he examined the paper: 

“I see traces of pencil marks. Yes; and the letters * w — i — t,’ 
then there is a blank, and * ss, ’ though an attempt has been made to 
rub it out, and probably the person who tried to do so fancied that 
he had succeeded. Sergeant, examine that man’s pockets,” and 
he pointed to Iffley. 

The sergeant, after fumbling about, produced a piece of india- 
rubber. 

“ I thought so,” observed the captain. “ There has been some 
knavery at work. This is greatly in the man’s favor.” 

I breathed more freely at this than I had for many a day. He 
then turned to Dick Hagger, and told him to make his statement. 

Dick, pulling his hair, at once stepped forward, and in a clear 
voice began: ‘‘My lords, and cap’ens, and gentlemen, I’ll speak 
the truth and nothing but the truth. I hated the notion of this here 
mutiny directly I got an inkling of it, and so did my messmate 
Will Weatherhelm, and we had made up our minds, if it was likely 
to come to anything, to get away aft and tell the commander or 
first lieutenant; but when we was agoing, quite unbeknown to us, 
before we had time to get on deck, the mutiny broke out, the lad- 
ders were unshipped, an’ we was kept prisoners. We were both of 
us marked men, and when we again tried to join the officers we 
was held back. Every one who has ever served with Weatherhelm 
know r s him to be a good seaman, and an orderly, well-conducted 
chap, w r ho wouldn’t, for to get a pocketful of gold, have become a 
rascally mutineer.” The warrant and petty officers who were 
called, gave both Hagger and me good characters, and his evidence 
appeared to weigh greatly in my favor; still I could see the most 
of the members of the court-martial considered it necessary to make 
an example of the whole of those who had been captured, and one 
after the other the ringleaders were condemned to death. Berkeley 
and Pratt fell on their knees on hearing their sentence, and im- 
plored for mercy. 

‘‘It was through the treachery of that man that Wetherholm’s 
signature was obtained,” said Captain Pakenham, pointing to the 
lormer; ‘‘lam not inclined to grant him it. ” 

The other members of the court were of his opinion. 

Charles Iffley, though lie had been the chief instigator of the 


WILL WEATHEKHELM. 


279 


mutiny, was pardoned, in consequence of liis having produced the 
paper with the signature of the ringleaders. My fate still hung in 
the balance, for Captain Pakenham alone seemed to consider me in- 
nocent. I saw my judges conferring together. How my heart 
bounded with joy when the president at length acquitted me! 

Iffley cast a glance of disappointed spite toward me as he heard 
this, and walked away. I was again a free man. My first act, 
after returning thanks to Heaven from the bottom of my heart for 
my merciful deliverance, was to obtain a sheet of paper, and write 
an account of what had happened and my happy acquittal to Uncle 
Kelson, and beg him to break the matter to my wife, fori was afraid 
that she would be overmuch agitated should I address her directly. 

Several boats were returning to the shore, and I, without diffi- 
culty, got a man I knew to take it. The first to come up and con- 
gratulate me was Dick Hagger. 

“I was sure, Will, that they couldn’t bring you in guilty. It 
would have been against all right and reason; and if they had, why 
I would have gone up and axed to be hung too, and told them you 
was no more a mutineer than I was!” 

Many other shipmates came up, and expressed themselves much 
in the same way. No one, however, spoke to Iffley, for they well 
knew that he was at the bottom of the whole affair, and deserved 
hanging more than any of the rest. He was from that day forward 
shunned by all in the ship, for even the men who had mutinied 
would not trust him. 

This made him more morose and ill-tempered than ever, and I 
could not help suspecting that if he had an opportunity, he would 
still try to do me an injury. Discipline was now perfectly restored, 
but the ship- was still not a happy one. No liberty was allowed, 
and we were kept hard at work exercising the guns and reefing sails. 
When I asked for leave to go on shore, I was refused. 

“ If we grant it to one, we must to another,” was the answer. 

So I had to stop on board, and as Dick observed, “ grin and bear 
it.” 

Thus nearly a month went by. The condemned men had been 
sent on board various ships for safe-keeping, there to remain until 
the day they were doomed to die. On the 13th of January, early in 
the morning, they were brought on board the " Culloden,” heavily 
handcuffed, and looking the picture of misery and despair. At the 
same time boats from every ship in the fleet came alongside to wit- 
ness the execution. 

The wretched men, still with their irons on, were now conducted 


280 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


to the upper deck. Ropes were rove through the main-, fore-, and 
mizzen-yard arms. The whole eight were thus standing, with the 
chaplains by their sides, giving them the last consolations of religion 
when our captain appeared with a paper in his hand. It was a par- 
don for the three youngest. The other five looked up with implor- 
ing glances, and an expression of hope lighted up their counte- 
nances, but there was no pardon for them. The three having been 
led on one side by the marines who had them in charge, the prepa- 
rations for the execution of the other five were continued. They 
were shortly finished. The gun, the signal for their execution, 
was fired, and in another instant they were all run up in sight of 
the whole fleet, and of the crews of the boats who were compelled to 
witness their punishment. It was an awful sight. I felt that but 
for God’s great mercy I might have been among the hapless men 
who were struggling now in mid-air. I sickened as I gazed at 
them, and hid my eyes with my hands, as did many another stout- 
hearted fellow. 

After a time they were lowered down. The doctor pronounced 
them dead, and they were placed in shells and taken on shore to be 
buried. The ropes were unrove, the hands were piped down, and 
the boats returned to their respective ships. The fearful drama was 
over. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

The crew of the “ Culloden ” distributed— Dick and I have to go on board the 
“ Mars ”— Cruise off Ushant— Fall in with the enemy— A narrow escape — 
Masterly retreat of Admiral Cornwallis— A ruse de guerre— A severe strug- 
gle— The “ Mars ” rescued by the “ Queen Charlotte Return to England- 
State of the ships— My expectations of leave disappointed— We are drafted 
on Board the “ Galatea.” 

The " Culloden ” hhving gained a bad name for herself, in con- 
sequence of the late e rent and her behavior on the 1st of June, her 
officers and crew were distributed among several ships; I, with 
Dick Hagger and other men, being sent on board the “ Mars,” 
seventy-four, one of the squadron under Vice-Admiral the Honor- 
able William Cornwallis, whose flag was flying on board the “ Royal 
Sovereign,” of one hundred guns. The other ships were the 
" Triumph,” " Sir Erasmus Gower,” the" Brunswick,” and 
" Bellerophon, ” seventy -fours, the "Phaeton” and "Pallas” 
frigates, and the " Kingfisher,” an eighteen-gun brig. 

We sailed at the end of May from Spithead, for a cruise off 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


281 


Ushant. On the 8th of June we made the land about the Pen- 
marcks on the French coast, and soon after the “ Triumph ” threw 
out the signal of six sail east by north. 

We immediately gave chase. After some time, one of the frigates, 
with the little “ Kingfisher ” and the “ Triumph,” being consider- 
ably ahead, commenced firing at the enemy, while we were crowd- 
ing all sail to get up with them, the admiral having made the signal 
to close. 

Before we had done so, however, the admiral ordered us and the 
“ Bellerophon ” to chase two French frigates to the south-west, one 
of which had a large ship in tow. This, after a short time, they 
abandoned to us, and we took possession of her. We stood so close 
in tliat the batteries at Belle Isle opened upon us, and shoaling our 
water, the signal for danger was made. 

Thereupon Admiral Cornwallis recalled us, and we stood off the 
land with the prizes we had taken, and eight others, captured by 
the frigates, laden with wine and brandy. A good many small ves- 
sels, however, escaped us by plying to windward under the land, to 
gain the anchorage in Palais Roads. 

The next day it was calm, so that the enemy could not, even if 
they had had a mind to do so, come out and attack us, and in the 
evening a breeze springing up, we took the prizes in tow, and stood 
away for the Channel. 

Sighting Scilly, Admiral Cornwallis ordered the “ Kingfisher ’ 
to convoy the prizes into port, while we stood back to the southward 
and eastward to look after the French squadron. Several days had 
passed when the “Phaeton,” our lookout frigate, made the signal 
of a French fleet in sight; but as nothing was said about the enemy 
being of superior force, and as she did not haul her wind and return 
to us, Admiral Cornwallis must have concluded, as did our captain, 
that the signal had reference to the number rather than to the appar- 
ent slrengthof the French ships, and we accordingly stood on nearer 
than we should otherwise have done. It was not indeed until an 
hour afterward that we got a sufficiently clear sight of the French 
fleet to make out that it consisted of one very large one hundred and 
twenty gun ship, eleven seventy-fours, and the same number of 
frigates, besides smaller craft. Dick Hagger, who had been sent 
aloft, told me that he had counted thirty at least. 

“ Never mind! If we can’t out-sai 1 them, we’ll fight them, and 
show the mounseers that ‘ hearts of oak are our ships, British tars 
are our men, ’ ” he exclaimed with a gay laugh, humming the tune. 

All hands on board our ship were in the same humor, and so were 


2S2 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


the crews of the rest of the squadron. We knew that we could trust 
our stout (-Id admiral, for if he was at times somewhat grumpy, he 
was as gallant a man and as good an officer as any in the service. I 
heard il said, many years after, that when some of the Government 
gentlemen offered to make a lord of him, he declined, saying, “ It 
won’t cure the gout.” 

The admiral now threw out the signal to the squadron to haul to 
the wind on the starboard tack under all sail, and form in line ahead, 
the “ Brunswick *’ leading, and we in the “ Mars ” being last. Thus 
we stood on for about three hours, when we saw the French fleet on 
the same tack separate into two divisions, one of which tacked and 
stood to the northward, evidently to take advantage of the land 
wind, while the other continued its course to the southward. Of 
course it was the object of our admiral to escape if possible; for, fire- 
eater as he was, he had no wish to expose his ships to the risk of 
being surrounded and sunk, as he knew well enough might be the 
case should the French get up with us. 

After this we twice lacked, and then we saw the French north di- 
vision tack to the southward, when the wind shifted to the north- 
ward, and this enabled that division to weather on us, and the south 
division to lie well up for our squadron. 

The first division now bore east by north about eight or nine miles, 
and the south division south-east, distant about ten miles on our lar- 
board quarter. Night soon came on, and we could not tell but that 
before it was over we might have the French ships close aboard, 
and thundering away at us. 

Well, if they do come,” cried Dick, “ we’ll give them as good as 
we take, although we may have three to fight; but what’s the odds 
if we work our guns three times as fast as they do?” 

To our surprise the watch was piped down as usual, for the ad- 
miral knew better than we did, that the enemy could not be up 
with us until the morning while the wind held as it then did. 

We slept like tops, not troubling our heads much about the battle 
we might hare to fight before another day was over, but I doubt 
whether many of the officers turned in. 

The middle watch got their sleep like the first. After that the 
hammocks were piped up, and every preparation made for battle. 
Two of our ships, the 4 ‘ Bellerophon ” and “ Brunswick,” which 
were always looked upon as fast sailers, had, somehow or other, got 
out of trim, and during the night had to cut away their anchors 
and launches, and to start a portion of their water and provisions. 
The old “Billy Ruffian,” however, do all they could, would not 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


283 


move along, and they were compelled to heave overboard her four 
poop carronades with their carriages, and a large quantity of shot. 
Notwithstanding this, and that they were carrying every stitch of 
canvas they could set, we and the other ships had to shorten sail 
occasionally to keep in line with them. It may be supposed that we 
had been keeping a bright lookout for the French fleet, and when 
daylight broke we saw it coming up very fast, formed in three 
divisions. 

The weather division, consisting of three ships of the line, and 
five frigates, was nearly abreast of our ships. In the center division 
we counted five ships of the line and four frigates, and in the lee 
division four sail of the line, five frigates, two brigs, and two cut- 
ters. These were somewhat fearful odds, but notwithstanding, as 
far a3 I could judge, the hearts of none on board our ship, and we 
were the most exposed, quailed for a moment. We had made up 
our minds to a desperate fight, but we had confidence in our old 
admiral, and we knew that if any man could rescue us he would 
do it. 

Stripped to the waist, we stood at our quarters, waiting the order 
to fire, and resolved to fight to the last. At that moment I did not 
think of my wife, or home, or anything else, but just the work we 
had in hand. At such times it does not do to think. We all knew 
that it was our business to run our guns in as fast as possible and 
fire when ordered. We watched the approach of the French ships, 
eager for the moment when we should begin the fight. 

A seventy-four was the van ship of the weather division, and a 
frigate led the center division. We had had our breakfast and re- 
turned to our guns, when the seventy four opened her fire upon our 
ship, the “ Mars.” We immediately hoisted our colors, as did the 
rest of our squadron, and returned it with our stern-chasers. 
Directly afterward the French frigate ran up on our larboard and 
lee quarter, and yawing rapidly, fired inter us. This sort of work 
continued for nearly half an hour. Several of our men by that time 
had been struck down, though none that I could see were killed, 
while our standing and running rigging was already a good deal 
cut up. We had been blazing away for some time, and the enemy’s 
shot were coming pretty quickly aboard, when I heard a crash, and 
looking up saw that our main yard was badly wounded. Now for 
the first time I began to fear that we should get crippled, and, being 
surrounded by the enemy, should be unable to fight our way out 
from among them. 

Two other ships, the “ Triumph ” and “ Bellerophon ” were now 


284 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


warmly engaged, and soon afterward the remainder of the squadron 
began firing their stern or quarter guns as they could bring them to 
bear on the enemy. The ‘ ‘ Brunswick, ’ ’ it should be understood, 
was leading, then came the “ Royal Sovereign,” next the “ Bellero- 
phon ” and “ Triumph,” we being, as I before said, the sternmost. 
We now saw the “ Royal Sovereign ” making signals to the two 
ships to go ahead, while she, shortening sail, took her station next 
in line to the ‘ ‘ Brunswick. ’ ’ 

We had kept up so hot a fire on the first ship which had attacked 
us, that we had at length knocked away her maintop-gallant-mast 
and had done considerable damage to her rigging. To our great 
satisfaction we saw her sheer off and drop astern. 

“ Hurrah! there’s one done for,” cried Dick Hagger. 

‘ ‘ So there is, my boy, but one down another come on, ’ ’ remarked 
a wag among the crew of our gun, pointing as he spoke to a French 
seventy-four, which, crowding all sail, was approaching to open 
directly afterward a brisk cannonade on our larboard quarter. 

“ Never mind, lads, we will treat her as we did t’other, and may 
be we’ll capture both of them,” cried Dick. 

I did not see there was much chance of that, considering that the 
whole French fleet was at hand to support the crippled ships. Had 
we been more nearly matched we might have done it. 

We were now getting pretty severely mauled. First one and then 
another got up under our quarter, and blazed away at us. More 
men were wounded, and our foretop-sail-yard was badly damaged, 
in addition to our main top-sail-yard, while we had to cut away the 
stern galleries the better to train our guns, run through the after 
ports. The other ships — especially the “ Triumph,” ” Sir Erasmus 
Gower ’ ’ — were keeping up a tremendous fire from their stern-ports. 
Notwithstanding this the French were getting closer and closer. 

Four hours thus passed away. While we were thus engaged it 
must be remembered we were pressing on with all sail, so that we 
kept ahead of the enemy. While our sticks stood we had no fear of 
making our escape, but we well knew that at any moment a shot 
might carry away one of our masts, and then, too probably, our 
brave chief would have to leave us to our fate for the sake of the 
safety of the rest of the squadron ; not that we supposed for an in- 
stant that he would do so until compelled by the most dire necessity. 
Strange to say I had not the slightest fear of being shot, but I did 
dread the thought of being captured and shut up in a French 
prison, to be treated as we heard that English prisoners were treated 
by the French Republicans. The wretches who had cut off the 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


285 


heads of their king and beautiful queen, and had guillotined thou- 
sands of innocent persons, until the very streets of Paris ran with 
blood, were not very likely to be overkind to the English they got 
into their power. As yet, to be sure, they had not made many 
prisoners, but those they had made we heard were treated bar- 
barously. 

The expectation of what we should receive should we be defeated 
did not make us fight with the less determination. Still, as day 
wore on, the French ships in greater numbers crowded up astern, 
and the chances that we should escape seemed to diminish. Not a 
man, however, quitted his gun. We should have a tremendously 
hard fight before we were taken — of that w r e were certain; and 
many said, and believed it, too, that Sir Charles would let the ship 
sink under his feet rather than strike our flag. Matters seemed get- 
ting worse and worse. We saw the “ Royal Sovereign ” throw out 
signals to us to alter our course to starboard, and get away from the 
ships most annoying us. 

Immediately afterward we saw her keep away in our direction, 
accompanied by Ihe “ Triumph. ” We cheered lustily as she opened 
her powerful broadside upon the enemy, when we, running down, 
were brought into close order of battle, thus being saved from the 
mauling we were getting. 

Our two friends did not arrive a moment too soon; for just then 
four of the French van ships had borne up, hoping to secure us. 
On seeing the approach of a three-decker they again hauled their 
wind. 

While this work had been going on the “Phaeton” frigate, 
which had been sent by the admiral in the morning to a distance 
of some miles, was seen approaching, making the signal of a strange 
sail west-north-west, soon afterward for four sail, and finally she let 
fly her top-gallant-sheets, and fired two guns in quick succession, 
which we all well knew was the signal for a fleet, probably that of 
Lord Bridport. This cheered up our hearts, as may be supposed, for 
we fancied that the tables would soon be turned, and that instead of 
being phased, we should be chasing the Frenchmen, with the pros- 
pect of a stand-up fight, ending in the capture of a part, if not the 
whole of their fleet. 

No one thought at the time that the “Phaeton” was carrying 
out a ruse de guerre , which had shortly before been arranged by 
Admiral Cornwallis. 

In the afternoon, about three o’clock, we saw the “Phaeton ” 
making private signals to the supposed fleet; and then using the 


286 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


tabular signals with which the French were well acquainted, she 
communicated to our admiral the fact that the fleet seen were 
friends. 

About an hour and a half afterward she signaled that they were 
ships of the line. She then hoisted the Dutch ensign, as if replying 
to a signal made by the admiral in the distance to Admiral Corn- 
wallis, ordering him to join company. 

Shortly afterward she shortened sail, then wore, and stood back 
toward us. We had been all day retreating, most of the time 
warmly engaged with our overpowering enemy, when soon 
after 6 p.m. the French ships suddenly ceased firing; and shortly 
afterward their admirals making signals to them, they shortened 
sail and stood to the eastward. By sunset they were nearly hull 
down in the north-east, while we sailed on, rejoicing in having es- 
caped from as dangerous a position as squadron was ever placed in. 
I don’t know if I have succeeded in explaining the position of our 
ships sufficiently well to be understood by shore-going persons. So 
close were the French ships upon us, that had they not given up 
the chase when they did, it would have been scarcely possible for 
us and the “ Triumph,” which, if she had not suffered as much as 
we had, was too much cut up to have afforded us any assistance, to 
have effected our escape. I am very certain that our old admiral 
would not have deserted us, nor was it likely that the other two 
ships would have done so. We should all. therefore, after a des- 
perate fight, cither have gone down, been blown up, or captured. 
As it was, our brave admiral’s masterly retreat excited general ad- 
miration. Every seaman on board was well able to judge of our 
danger, and of the way in which we had been rescued. Had he not 
so gallantly bore up to save us in the “ Mars,” our ship must in- 
evitably have been taken. He might, as some officers would have 
done, have left us to our fate, for the sake of preserving the rest of 
the squadron; but he had no notion of doing anything of the sort, 
and gallantly determined that if he could help it not a single one of 
his squadron should fall into the hands of the enemy. In his dis- 
patch, giving an account of the transaction, he spoke in the hand- 
somest way of the behavior of the officers and ships’ companies 
engaged, saying very little of the manner in which he had come to 
our rescue. He and all of us got the thanks of both Houses of 
Parliament for what had been done, and all will acknowledge that 
he richly deserved them. As soon as we lost sight of (lie French 
fleet we steered a course for Plymouth, to carry the intelligence 
that it was at sea. From the way the stern of our ship had been 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


287 ' 


knocked about we were compelled to remain for some time at Ha- 
moaze to refit, and were therefore unable to sail with the fleet under 
Lord Bridport, which went out to Iook. for the French fleet from 
which we had effected our escape. He came up with the enemy off 
lsle-groix; and after a tough fight, in which a good many officers 
and men were killed and wounded, three French ships were capt- 
ured. One of them was the “ Alexander,” but she was so knocked 
about by the “ Queen Charlotte,” that she was worth little. The 
two others, the “ Tigre ” and “ Formidable,” were fine new seventy- 
fours. The former was allowed to retain her name, but we already 
having a * ‘ Formidable ’ ’ in the service, her name was changed to 
the “ Belle-Isle,” near which the action was fought. 

We and the “ Triumph ” were at once ordered up to Hamoaze to 
get our damages repaired. We were much injured aloft, and when 
I looked at the stern of our ship she had the appearance of having 
received a dreadful pounding. The “ Triumph ” had suffered still 
more, as from her position in' the line she had to keep up the heavi- 
est stern fire. In order to train her guns the stern galleries, bulk- 
heads, and every part of the stern of the ward-room, except the 
timbers, had been cut away, and it was said that from her three 
stern batteries — namely, her -first deck, her second deck, and quarter 
deck — she had expended in single shots five thousand pounds of 
powder. 

I now hoped that I might be able to get leave in sufficient time to 
reach Southsea, and spend a few days with my wife, and I resolved 
to make bold and ask for it as soon as I could see the commander. 
Meantime, the moment I was off duty I hurried below and began a 
letter to my wife. While thus engaged all hands were piped on 
deck. 

“ What can it be for?” exclaimed Dick. “We are not going to 
sea, I suppose, in this state?” 

On reaching the deck we found numerous boats alongside, and 
besides them also several lieutenants not belonging to our ship. As 
soon as we were mustered our commander addressed us. He said 
that as the “ Mars ” would be some time refitting, the Admiralty 
had ordered part of our crew to be drafted on board a line-of-battle- 
ship and two frigates requiring hands, the “Thunderer,” “ Are- 
thusa,” and “ Galatea.” He did not ask for volunteers, but said 
that those whose names were called over must get their bags at once 
and go off in the boats waiting alongside to receive them. I don’t 
know what my shipmates felt, but I hoped earnestly that I should 
not be among those selected. I listened almost breathlessly as the 


288 


> 

WILL WEATHERHELM. 

names were called over, and as they did so the men were sent down 
for their bags. A hundred and fifty or more had been chosen, 
about two hundred were wanted. At last, what was my dismay on 
hearing my own name called! It was vain, I knew, to expostulate; 
I had to submit. Before going below I stopped to speak to Hagger. 
Taking out the almost finished letter, I begged him to add a post- 
script, saying how I had been sent off, but that I trusted I might 
return before long. Scarcely were the words out of my mouth 
when his name was called. 

“ It Can’t be helped, Will,” he said; “ bear up, lad, I’m thankful 
I’m going with you. You must try and finish your letter, and send 
it off when we get aboard the ship we’re ordered to join.” 

I made no reply, my heart was too full to speak. I wanted to 'do 
my duty, but this disappointment was almost more than I could 
bear. 

“ Move on, be smart now, lads!” I heard one of the officers sing 
out; “ there’s not a moment to lose. ” 

Dick and I hurried below, shouldered our bags and returned on 
deck, when we found that we were both to go on board the “ Gala- 
tea ” frigate, commanded by Captain Keats. The boats immediate- 
ly shoved off, and away we pulled down the Sound. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

I fail to send a letter to my wife— We sail with transports and emigrants for 
Quiberon— Early success of the expedition— Action between the Royalists 
and Republicans— I accompany a midshipman to Fort Penthidvre with an 
important message— I witness some strange scenes— A rough night— Sur- 
prised by the Republicans— Attack and capture of the fort— We escape 

Conduct of the Royalists— Steadiness of the British marines— Advance of 
the army under General Hoche— The fleet rescue the party— Return of the 
expedition. 

The “ Galatea,” we found, formed one of a squadron under the 
command of Commodore Sir John Warren. It consisted of the 
‘ ‘ Robust, ” “ Thunderer, ’ ’ and ‘ ‘ Standard, ’ 5 sevenl y-fours ; the 
frigates “ Poipone,” on board which the commodore’s flag was 
flying, the “ Anson,” “ Artois,” “Arethusa,” “Concorde,” and 
our frigate the “ Galatea,” convoying fifty sail of transports with 
about two thousand five hundred French Royalists. The expedi- 
tion was bound for Quiberon, the inhabitants of which district had 
remained faithful to their king, and it was hoped that from thence 


289 


1 

WILL WEATHERHELM. 

the Republicans could be attacked, and a large part of the country- 
gained over to the royal cause. 

The Galatea ” was a small frigate, and now that she was well 
manned was likely to make a name for herself. On being sent be- 
low to stow away my bag, I managed to sign my name in pencil to 
my letter, by placing it on a gun, and to add a few lines describing 
what had happened, and then I hurried on deck, but the boatswain’s 
pipe was already shrilly sounding, and his voice shouting, “ All 
hands up anchor!” 

The commodore’s frigate was letting fall her topsails, and the 
other ships were following her example. The capstan went merrily 
round, the anchor was away, the sails were sheeted home, and we 
stood out of Plymouth Sound, steering for the southward. 

My poor wife would have to wait some time now before she could 
hear from me, or know indeed where I was. There was nobody on 
board the “ Mars ” to whom I could have intrusted the duty of 
writing to her. I had to bear it, therefore, as I had to bear many 
another trial. Hope still supported me. As far as we could learn, 
we were not likely to be long away. Lord Bridport had driven the 
French fleet into harbor and was watching them, although we, of 
course, might on our return fall in with an enemy and have a fight. 

The weather was fine and the wind fair, but we had plenty to do 
in keeping the transports together. There were many of them very 
slow sailers, merchant vessels hired for the purpose, some of them 
brigs of a hundred and fifty to two hundred tons, which must have 
afforded very miserable accommodation to the unfortunate emi- 
grants. The troops were under the command of a royalist officer, 
the Comte de Puisaye, who had as his lieutenants the Comtes 
d’Hervilly and de Sombreuil. 

On the 25th of June we entered the capacious bay of Quiberon, 
which affords one of the most secure anchorages on the French 
coast. On one side is the Peninsula of Quiberon, which extends 
out some way from the mainland, and seaward are two small, well- 
cultivated islands, so that it is completely protected from westerly 
and south-westerly gales. The next day was spent in preparations 
for landing, and to allow the laggards to come up: knd on the 27tli, 
at daybreak, the troops, conveyed in a large flotilla of boats, escorted 
by six of the squadron, pulled for the village of Carmac, where 
they landed. A small body of about t*vo hundred Republicans 
attempted to oppose them, but were quickly driven back, leaving 
several dead on the field, while the Royalists did not lose a man. 

This slight success encouraged the royalist inhabitants, who came 
10 


290 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


down to the number of sixteen thousand, eager to receive the arms 
and ammunition which we landed from the ships for their use. 

The troops were at once cantoned among the inhabitants, who 
gladly supplied them with everything they required. The French 
officers and soldiers we put on shore were in high spirits, laughing 
and joking, and seemed confident of success, and the people who 
came down to help to unload the boats were equally merry, declar- 
ing that they had only to attack the Republicans to compel them to 
lay down their arms. 

Some days passed by, during which the Royalists on shore were 
drilling and preparing for action. At length an expedition was 
planned to. attack the Peninsula of Quiberon. Two thousand 
Royalists, and five hundred emigrants, supported by three hundred 
British marines, were disembarked. They at once marched toward 
the Fort of Penthievre, situated on a commanding eminence on the 
northern extremity of the peninsula, which was invested at the 
same time od the other side by the Comte d'Hervillv. 

Without much fighting its garrison of six hundred men soon sur- 
rendered. We immediately set to work to land stores and provis- 
ions for the supply of the royalist troops. * 

A day or two after this the comte led a body of five thousand 
men, including two hundred British marines, against the right flank 
of the army of General Hoche, which was strongly posted on the 
heights of St. Barbe. At the same time, for their support, five 
launches, each armed with a twenty-four-pounder carronade, 
manned from the ships of war, were sent in and stationed close to 
the beach. I was in one of them, and could see what was going 
forward. 

We watched the small body of red-coats and the motley dressed 
Royalists marching on to the attack. At first they advanced with 
considerable firmness, but being met by a withering fire from the 
heights, and being ill-disciplined, they began to beat a hasty re- 
treat. The marines were compelled, of course, to retire, too. but 
they did so with their faces to the foe, defending the fugitives as 
well as they could. 

On this Captain Keats, who commanded the boats, ordered us to 
„ open fire, and we began to blaze away at the Republicans in a fash- 
ion which considerably retarded them in their pursuit of the retreat- 
ing force. So well directed were our shot on their flanks that be- 
yond a certain line they were unable to advance. 

Both the marines and Royalists got back to the beach, though not 
without considerable loss. Among the badly wounded was their 


WILL WEA.THERHELM. 291 

brave leader, who was conveyed on board our frigate, -and placed 
under the care of our surgeon. Though he suffered much from his 
wound, his thoughts were still with his friends ashore. 

It was, I think, about two days afterward, being anxious to com- 
municate with his friend the Comte de Sombreuil, at Fort Pent- 
hievre, which was under the command of the Comte de Puisaye, 
he requested that a messenger might be sent on shore with a letter. 
Captain Keats accordingly ordered Mr. Harvey, one of the senior 
midshipmen, to take the letter, and allowed him to select a man to 
accompany him. He chose me, I having served with him already in 
two ships, and being well kpown to him. 

We at once, shoving off in the second gig under charge of another 
midshipman, pulled for the beach nearest the fort, toward which, 
as soon as we landed, we made our way. We remarked six tran- 
sports, laden, as we were told, with provisions and stores of all sorts, 
come to an anchor as close to the fort as they could bring up. 

As we stepped on shore, Mr. Harvey directed the gig to return 
without delay to the frigate. “ I don’t like the look of the 
weather,” he observed, “and depend upon it, before nightfall, it 
will come on to blow hard.” 

We were to remain at the fort until the foil wing morning, when 
the boat was to come in again and take us off. 

Mr. Hartley delivered his dispatch to the young comte, who re- 
ceived him very graciously, and gave him the- best accommodation 
he could for the night, while I, that I might be ready to attend to 
his wants, was allowed to sleep on a sofa in a little anteroom outside 
of the one he occupied. 

Mr. Harvey told me that the count was greatly out of spirits in 
consequence of the numerous desertions which had taken place from 
the fort. Various causes were at work. Some of the garrison were 
Republicans at heart, and others, hopeless of the success of the 
Royalists, were afraid of the consequences should they remain. One 
or two plots had been discovered, but the conspirators had been 
seized, and it was hoped that those who had been won over would 
be deterred from carrying out their plans. 

Notwithstanding these forebodings of evil, the officers met, as I 
suppose was their custom, at au early supper. I looked in with some 
of the attendants to see what was going forward. The table was 
covered with all sorts of good things, such as French cooks know 
well how to prepare. Wine flowed freely, and conversation seemed 
to be carried on with great animation. Speeches were made, and 
compliments paid to Mr. Harvey, who spoke very good French, for 


n 


292 WILL WEATHERHELM. 

which reason he had been selected to convey the letter to the count. 
The major commanding the marines, a captain, and two lieutenants, 
were also present, but as none of them spoke French, Mr, Harvey 
had to reply for the whole party. 

After supper the marine officers went to their quarters, which 
happened to be on the side of the fort nearest the sea, in rooms pre- 
pared for them. 

I remember we had to run across an open space, and were nearly 
wetted through by the tremendous rain which poured down upon 
us. It was blowing very hard too, the wind howled and shrieked 
among the buildings of the fort, while Ihe windows and doors 
rattled till I thought that they would be forced in. 

“ I was afraid, Wetherholm, that we were going to have a dirty 
night of it, ” observed Mr. Harvey. “ I hope the gig got back safely, 
but I doubt very much whether she will be able to return for us to- 
morrow if this weather continues. However, it may only be a sum- 
mer gale, though from the appearance of things it might be mid- 
winter. ’ ’ 

I looked out; the sky seemed as black as ink, and the night w?ts 
so dark that had it not been for the light in the window above the 
door we had to make for, we could not have found our way. 

Mr. Harvey, of course, wore his sword, and, as was customary 
for the men sent on shore, I had my cutlass slung to my side and a 
brace of pistols; for, as we were before the enemy, we might at any 
moment be called upon to fight . 

I having hung up Mr. Harvey’s coat to dry, and his sword against 
the wall, went to the anteroom, and taking off my wet jacket lay 
down on the sofa, all standing. At sea, I should not have been two 
minutes in my hammock before I had fallen asleep, but the howling 
and shrieking wind sounded very different on shore, and seemed to 
make its way through every chink and crevice, producing all sorts 
of strange sounds, a mingling of moanings, sliriekings, whistlings, 
and bowlings. Frequently the building itself would shake, until I 
fancied that it was about to come down upon our heads. Notwith- 
standing this, I was just dozing off, when I was aroused by still 
stranger sounds. 1 listened; I felt sure they could not be caused by 
the wind. They were human voices. I could distinguish shrieks 
and shouts and cries. Almost at the same instant there came the 
sharp report of pistols. 

I sprung into Mr. Harvey’s room to awaken him. Fortunately he 
had a light burning on the table. 

“ There’s something fearful happening, sir,” I said, as he started 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


293 


np, looking very much astonished. I got down his coat and sword, 
which I helped him to put on. 

“ The treachery the count spoke of is at work, I fear, hut I hope 
the conspirators will quickly he put down. We must go to the 
help of our friends if we can manage to find them,” he said, while 
he was quickly slipping into his clothes. 

We hurried down-stairs; the rest of the people in the house were 
rushing out, hut, as far as I could discover, they were hurrying off, 
away from the direction of the firing and shouts. 

Presently I could hear the cry of “ Yive la Republique,” then 
came a sharp rattle of musketry, some of the bullets pinging against 
the walls above our heads. 

“ Come on, Wetherholm, I think I can find out where the count 
is quartered; we may he in time to help him.” 

As we were about to leave the house, the cry of “ Yive la Re- 
publique ” again echoed from all parts of the fort in front of us, 
the shouting and shrieking continuing, mingled with cries and 
groans and fierce exclamations, with the constant report of pistols. 
Still Mr. Harvey was pushing on, when through the darkness we 
could distinguish a number of persons flying toward the rear of the 
fort. 

At length we made out others following them, the flash of their 
pistols showing that they had swords in their hands. They fortunate- 
ly turned away from 'where we were standing. 

“ There can be no doubt that the fort has been surprised, and that 
it will go hard with the count and his soldiers,” said Mr. Harvey. 

‘ ‘ I should like to have assisted him in defending his post, but per- 
haps the best thing I can do is to bring up the marines to his support. 

I think we may find their quarters, though I am not very certain 
about the direction. : ’ 

I agreed with Mr. Harvey, for I saw that it would be madness to 
rush among a number of people fighting, when we could not dis- 
tinguish between friends and foes. 

We accordingly made our way across the fort to where we be- 
lieved we should find the major of marines. Mr. Harvey thought 
we ought to keep more to the left, but I felt certain that if we turned 
to the right we should reach the building. 

“ Who goes there?” I heard a voice shout out. 

It was that of the sentry stationed in front of the building used 
for the marine barracks, and finding who we were, he told us that 
the men were mustering in the court-yard. Hurrying forward, we 
there found the major ready to lead them out. 


294 


WILL WEATHER 



On Mr. Harvey telling him the state of things in front, he directed 
us to proceed to the quarters of the Comte de Puisaye, to say that 
he would endeavor to drive back the Republicans and to hold the 
fort until the count should come up with all the troops he could col 
lect. 

Mr. Harvey and I accordingly hastened forward on the errand. 
As we went on, we heard several of the fugitives passing us. One, 
from the clatter of his scabbard, was evidently an officer. Mr. 
Harvey stopped him, and told him that the English marines were 
ready to hold their ground, and that we were going to the general’s 
quarters, begging him, if he knew the way, to conduct us. 

This information seemed somewhat to restore his confidence; but 
he expressed his fears that unless assistance could be brought imme- 
diately to the Comte de Sombreuil, he would be overwhelmed. He 
was, he believed, defending the building in which he was quartered 
with several of the leading officers, but that many who were in their 
houses, as well as all those on guard, had been shot by traitorous 
soldiers who had revolted. He himself had had a narrow escape 
from a party of assassins, among whom he distinguished the voices 
of some of his own men; but he had cut down several of them, and 
then, favored by the darkness, had effected his escape. We owed 
our safety to the brave defense made at this time by the Comte de 
Sombreuil, who was thus preventing the Republicans from advanc- 
ing further across the fort. 

Conducted by the officer, whose name I forget, we at length 
reached the quarters of the Comte de Puisaye. He was issuing 
orders to the officers who were coming and going, to collect the 
troops under his immediate command. 

As they came in they were formed up into various companies. 
Being imperfectly disciplined, they were much longer assembling 
than they ought to have been, and I greatly feared that the fort 
would be lost before the troops were ready to march. 

Mr. Harvey waited until he believed that they would follow in 
another minute or two, and then set off with me, intending to re- 
turn to where we had left the marines. 

As we got near his quarters, we heard a rapid firing, returned 
evidently by a large number of men, for, as they fired their pieces, 
they shouted again and again, “ Vive la Republique!” When, 
however, they discovered that these were English troops in their 
front, they did not venture to rush upon the bayonets they would 
have had to encounter. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


295 


Mr. Harvey, after some difficulty, found Major Stubbs, who com- 
manded the marines, and told him what the general proposed doing. 

“ He must come pretty quickly, or we shall be overpowered,” he 
answered. “If it was daylight we should know what we were 
about, but in this pitchy darkness, with the rain clattering down 
upon us, the wind howling in our ears, and hosts of enemies pour- 
ing in on the other side of the fort, we may get separated and cut 
to pieces, and I will not sacrifice my men if I can help it.” 

The bullets came whistling past our heads, and it seemed to me 
that the men were dropping fast, but as one marine fell the others 
closed up their ranks and bravely held their ground. What would 
become of them and us I did not know; but at last the officer to 
whom Mr. Harvey had spoken, found us, and informed him that 
the Comte de Puisaye, seeing the hopelessness of endeavoring to re- 
gain the fort, had determined to retreat with his troops, and to save 
the lives of as many of the Royalist inhabitants as he could collect, 
advising Major Stubbs to draw off his men, and at the same time 
saying he should be obliged to him if he would cover his retreat. 

The darkness and the howling of the storm prevented the move- 
ments of the marines being discovered. The stout old major passed 
the order along the line, and his men, facing about, made their re- 
treat toward the rear of the fort, which was gained before the enemy 
attempted to pursue them. 

I don’t know what the major said, but I suspect it was not com- 
plimentary to the Comte de Puisaye. 

We remained with the marines, who had, as far as I could make 
out, lost a large number of men. What had become of the young 
Comte de Sombreuil and the other French officers, we could not 
tell; but probably, as the firing had ceased from the building in 
which they had been defending themselves, they had all been put to 
death. 

Major Stubbs halted for some time, during which a number of 
inhabitants of the houses and cottages in the neighborhood came in 
entreating his protection. 

At length, escorting them, we again advanced toward the south- 
east point of the peninsula, which afforded the easiest landing- 
place, and which, from the nature of the ground, could be defended 
should the Republicans advance in force to attack us. We found 
that the Comte de Puisaye, with upward of a thousand of his troops, 
and more than double that number of Royalists, had arrived there 
before us. The comte had received intelligence of the attack on the 
fort and its capture, and believing that De Sombreuil and his com- 


296 


WILL WEATHEItHELM. 


panions inside had at once been cut to pieces, had considered it use- 
less to go to his assistance. 

He had, therefore, mustering his troops, formed an escort to the 
fugitive Royalists, and immediately commenced his march to the 
point. 

Mr. Harvey expressed his fear that, in consequence of the gale, 
the ships would be unable to get up to embark the people, and ad- 
vised him to make preparation for a determined resistance should 
the Republicans follow and attack him. 

Scarcely had the troops been drawn up in position to make the 
best defense possible, and to protect the landing-place, than several 
terror-stricken fugitives arrived, bringing the alarming intelligence 
that the Republicans, in great force, under Hoche, were advancing. 
The darkness, increased by the gloomy state of the weather, con- 
tinued much longer than usual, and prevented us from ascertaining 
the truth of these statements. The unfortunate people were in the 
greatest alarm, for they well know the barbarous treatment the 
Royalists had received throughout the country from the Republi- 
cans. As their comparatively small force could not hope to hold 
out long should they be attacked by the overwhelming army of 
General Hoche, they fully expected to be massacred to a man. In 
vain they turned their eyes seaward ; no ships could be seen through 
the gloom coming to their relief, nor were there any boats on the 
shore. The wind, however, was falling, and daybreak was close at 
hand. I felt sure, also, that the marines, who were posted in a 
position which would certainly first be attacked, would hold their 
ground. This gave confidence to the Royalist troops. 

I was standing near Mr. Harvey, who was looking seaward. One 
after another, the fugitives who had escaped from the massacre 
came in, bringing further intelligence of the nearer approach of the 
Republicans. One of them, an officer, told Mr. Harvey that the 
, Comte de Sombreuil, the Bishop of Doll, and other emigrants of 
distinction, after holding out in their quarters until all their ammu- 
nition had been expended, and many of them killed, had capitulated 
to the Republicans on the condition that they should be allowed to 
retire on beard the English ships. 

“ This is better news than I expected,” observed Mr. Harvey; “ I 
feared that the count and all his companions had been killed. I 
wish I could believe that the Republicans are likely, to keep their 
word.” 

A short time after this, while I was standing close to Mr. Harvey 
on an elevated spot overlooking the bay, the dawn broke. lie gave 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


297 


a shout of satisfaction as we saw dimly through the gloom, or 
rather the gray light of early morning, the whole squadron beating 
up. On they came. 

As the wind fell they shook out the reefs in their topsails. There 
was no time to spare if they were to save the lives of the unfoi tunate 
people gathered on the shore. 

The “ Galatea ” was leading. In fine style she came on and drop- 
ped her anchor with a spring on her cable, so as to bring her broad- 
side to bear in the direction by which the Republicans would ap- 
proach. 

The other ships of the squadron brought up in succession, and 
directly afterward a large flotilla of boats was seen approaching the 
beach. 

To account for the opportune arrival of the squadron at this mo- 
ment, I may state what I afterward heard, that directly the fort was 
captured, the Comte de Puisaye had sent off a boat, though she ran 
a great risk of being swamped, to the commodore, who had, imme- 
diately the gale abated, got under way. 

The leading columns of the Republicans appeared in the distance, 
just as the “ Galatea’s ” guns had been brought to bear on the shore. 

A few shots made the enemy beat a hasty retreat, and allowed us 
to embark the troops and fugitive Royalists without molestation. 

The boats were under the command of Captain Keats, and by 
his good management nearly four thousand people were embarked 
without a casualty, leaving behind, however, for the benefit of the 
Republicans, ten thousand stand of arms, ammunition of all sorts, 
ana clothing for an army of forty thousand men. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A few particulars of the expedition— I learn to be patient— A strange sail— 
Cheated of a prize— We destroy a French frigate— Chase a brig— Becalmed 
at an awkward time— Our captain plans a cutting-out expedition— Success of 
our efforts— Dick Hagger and I with others are put on board a prize under 
Mr. Harvey— Sail for England. 

We were now kept actively engaged, but my readers would not 
be interested were I to give a detailed account of the various inci- 
dents of the unfortunate expedition to Quiberon. After taking 
possession of two islands commanding the bay, we were dispatched, 
in company with the “ Standard,” sixty-four, to summon the Gov- 
ernor of Belle Isle to deliver up the island for the use of the French 
king. 


298 


WILL WEATHERH/ELM. 


The boat proceeded to Ihe shore with a flag of truce, carrying a 
long letter from the captain of the “ Standard.” A very short reply 
was received, we heard, from the Republican general, who declared 
that, as he was well supplied with provisions and artillery, we might 
come when we liked, and he should be ready for us. 

I know that we sailed away and left him alone. Soon after this 
we were joined by the “ Jason ” frigate, escorting a fleet of tran- 
sports, containing four thousand British troops, under command of 
Major-General Doyle, who was accompanied by the Comte d’Artois 
and Several other French noblemen. The troops were landed on 
the Isle d ! Yeu with provisions, stores, and clothing, and there they 
remained doing nothing, for nothing could be done. The Republi- 
cans, under their clever, daring chiefs, had completely gained the 
upper hand, and the Royalist cause was lost. We meantime had to 
tenjoy the luxuries of salt pork and moldy biscuit, either blockad- 
ing the enemy’s ports or looking out for their cruisers or merchant- 
men. 

Thus we continued week after week, month after month, until 
my heart grew sick at the long delay. We had occasional oppor- 
tunities of writing home, and I always availed myself of them, but 
1 got very few letters in return, though my wife wrote frequently. 
The packet was often carried on to the Mediterranean, or to other 
more distant parts of the world. 

At last, while cruising with three other frigates and an eighteen- 
gun brig, the “ Sylph,” off the mouth ot the river Gironde, we one 
morning made out a French frigate in the south- south-west, stand- 
ing in toward the entrance of the river, the wind being at the time 
north north-west. Our frigate and the “ Sylph ” were close in with 
the land, while our consorts were considerably astern of us. We 
immediately crowded all sail to cut off the French frigate from the 
mouth of the river, while our captain ordered several signals to be 
made, intended to deceive her and induce her to suppose that we 
were also French. Dick Hagger and I were on the forecastle. 

“ She’ll take the bait, I hope,” he observed, glancing up at the 
strange bunting which was being run up at the fore royal masthead 
and quickly lowered. “ See, she’s answering. Well, it may be all 
ship-shape, but I don’t like telling lies, even to an enemy. Hurrah! 
I suppose the signals were to tell her to come to an anchor, for see, 
she is shortening sail.” 

Presently the French frigate rounded to and brought up. It was 
just what we wanted, for if she had stood on she might have run up 
the river and escaped us. All we now had to do was to get up 


WlcL weatherhelm. 


299 


alongside her, and we trusted to our guns to make her ours. We 
carried on, therefore, as we had been doing to reach her. 

This probably made her suspect that all was not right, for in a 
few minutes, letting fall her topsails, she stood away to the south- 
ward. 

“She has cut her cable, and is off again,” cried Dick; “how- 
ever, she can’t get up the river, that’s one comfort, and We shall 
have her before long.” 

The French ship was now under all the canvas she could spread, 
standing to the southward. We had the lead going, for we were 
running through a narrow channel, with a lighthouse on one side 
on some rocks, and a sandbank on the other. We had a pilot on 
board, however, who knew the coast, and our captain was a man of 
firm nerve. The men in the chains were singing out all the time. 
For my part, I know I was very glad when we cleared the danger, 
and once more ran off before the wind, followed by the commodore 
in the “ Pomone ” and the “ Anson ” frigate. Meanwhile the com- 
modore sent off the “ Artois ” frigate and “ Sylph ” brig to examine 
two suspicious ships seen away to the south-west. Night was ap- 
proaching, and just before daikness came down on the ocean, we 
were not more than two miles astern of the chase. We could still 
see her dimly through the gloom ahead, and we hoped to keep sight 
of her during the night. Suddenly, however, about nine o’clock, a 
heavy squall struck us, accompanied by thunder and lightning, 
with tremendous showers of rain. The order was given to shorten 
sail. We flew aloft; there was no time to be lost. The thunder 
rattled, almost deafening us, and the lightning flashed in our eyes. 
Between the flashes it was so dark that we had to feel our way on 
the yards, for as to seeing six inches from our own noses, that was 
out of the question. For nearly an hour it blew fearfully hard, and 
when we came down from aloft and looked ahead we could no- 
where see the chase, nor were either of our consorts visible astern. 
We, however, continued standing to the southward as before. What 
had become of the other sliips we could not tell. 

“The weather seems to be clearing,” observed Dick; “if we 
keep a sharp lookout, the chances are we catch sight of the chase 
again.” 

The third lieutenant, who was forward peering out with his hands 
on either side of his eyes, asked if any of us could see her. 

“ Yes, there she is!” cried Dick immediately afterward, “ away a 
little on the starboard bow.” 

The lieutenant, looking again to assure himself that Dick was 


300 WILL WEATHER^LM. 

right, sung out to the captain. Immediately the order was given 
to make all sail. We were, during this time, scarcely more than a 
mile from the shore, but the wind held fair, and there were no 
rocks to bring us up. Thus we stood on until daybreak, when we 
found that we were about the same distance from the chase as we 
had been at sunset, while, looking round, we discovered the frigate 
and brig, hull down, in the north-west. 

As the other vessels were so far off we now fully expected that 
the Frenchman would make a stand-up fight of it, and that before 
many minutes were over we should be blazing away at her, for, as 
far as we could judge, she was as big if not bigger than our ship. 
All this time, however, she had neither hoisted ensign nor pennant. 
This seemed strange, as there was no doubt about her being a Gov- 
ernment ship. For some time she stood on, edging away toward 
the land. “ Perhaps there is danger ahead, and the Frenchmen 
hope to lead us upon it,” I observed to Dick. 

“ We are all right as to that,” he answered. “ Our master knows 
the coast too well lo run the ship ashore. I only wish we could see 
the enemy haul her wind to, and wait for us.” 

“ She is going to haul her wind, see!” I exclaimed, as I saw the 
French frigate brace up her yards. 

“Yes, she is, but she’s putting her head toward the land; I do 
think she’s going to run ashore.” 

That such was the case there appeared every probability; still 
there was room enough for her to come about, and as we eagerly 
watched her, I hoped she would do so. 

She stood on and on, and presently what was my amazement to 
see her mizzen-mast go ly the board! 

“ The Frenchman must have cut it away,” cried Dick. “ I was 
right, then.” 

So he was; of that there could be no doubt. Soon afterward 
down came her main-mast. On she went, however, until we saw 
that she was ashore, and then her foremast followed the other 
masts, and the sea catching her, drove her broadside on to the 
beach, where she heeled over away from us, so that it was difficult 
to see what her crew were about. As the seas kept striking her, it 
seemed that her people must be in considerable danger. 

Our men bestowed no small amount of abuse on the French for 
trying to deprive us of the frigate, when they could not keep her 
for themselves. 

Our captain ordered three guns to be fired at her as we passed 
within a quarter of a mile of the shore; but though some of hers 


301 


WILE WEATHERHELM. 

might have been brought to bear on us, not one was discharged. 
We then stood off and hove to. The boats were lowered and 
manned, our first lieutenant going in command of them, with 
directions to effect the destruction of the frigate. The heavy surf 
breaking against her bottom, and sweeping round toward the side 
turned to the shore, made it difficult and dangerous work to attempt 
boarding her. 

The tide was now falling, and a considerable number of the 
French crew, seeing us coming, in spite of the risk of being swept 
away, plunged into the water, and partly by swimming and partly 
by wading, managed to reach the beach. None of them made any 
attempt to defend the ship, nor did we molest the poor fellows who 
were making for the land. 

At length we managed to get up to the ship, when the captain 
and several of his officers surrendered themselves as prisoners. We 
also took off a few Portuguese seamen, who had been taken out of 
two captured Brazil ships. We were soon joined by the boats of 
the “Artois ” and the “ Sylph,’’ which had in the meantime ap- 
proached. The former was now standing off the shore, while the 
“ Sylph ” came close in to protect the boats should the French sea- 
men venture to attack us. 

Having put the prisoners on board the “ Artois ” and “ Galatea,” 
we returned once more to effect the destruction of the frigate. The 
rollers, however, went tumbling in on shore with so much fury that 
the boats would probably have been lost had we made the attempt. 
We therefore had to wait patiently until the rising tide should en- 
able us with less hazard to get up to the ship. Meantime we took 
the “ Sylph ” in tow, and carried her to within seven hundred yards 
of the shore, where, dropping her anchor, she got a spring on it, 
and began firing away at the frigate, so as* to riddle her bottom and 
prevent the possibility of her floating off at high water. At last w T e 
once more pulled in, the tide allowing us to approach close to the 
beach, when Mr. Harvey, in whose boat I was, went on shore with 
a flag of truce to tel? the French seamen, who were gathering in 
considerable numbers on the sand-hills, that we were about to de- 
stroy their ship, and to advise them to keep out of the way. I was 
very glad when my young officer came back to the boat. 

They did not attend to the warning they received, but as soon as 
we pulled for the ship they came down, threafening us in consider- 
able numbers. On this the “ Sylph ” opened her fire, and soon 
sent them -to the right about. We now boarded the ship, which I 
should have said was the “ Andromaque, ” and having searched 


302 


WILL WEATHERl&fcLM. 


every part of her to ascertain that none of her crew or any prisoners 
she might have taken remained on hoard, we set her on fire fore 
and aft, so effectually that even had the Frenchmen returned and 
attempted to put out the flames they would have found it impossible 
to do so. So she burned rapidly, and as we pulled away toward 
the “ Sylph ” the flames were bursting out through all the ports. 
The “ Sylph ” then got under way, and, taking the boats in tow, 
stood off the land and rejoined the frigates. 

We had not got far when a tremendous roar was heard, and we 
could see the whole after-part of the ship blown into fragments, some 
flying seaward, other toward the land, many rising high into the air. 

We gave a cheer of satisfaction, for since we could not carry off 
the frigate as a prize, the next best thing was to prevent her doing 
any further harm to our commerce. 

This exploit performed, we separated from our consorts, and after 
cruising about for some time, we one morning, when about twenty 
miles off the land, just at daybreak, saw, inside of us, a large brig, 
which, from the squareness of her yards, we knew to be a vessel of 
war. The wind was from the southward, and she was close-hauled. 
We instantly made all sail, and stood after her, hoping to get her 
within range of our guns before she could run on shore, or seek for 
safety in port. 

She at once kept away, and was evidently steering for a harbor, 
though I forget its name, which lay some short distance to the 
northward. She soon showed that she was a fast craft, for though 
the “ Galatea ” sailed well, she maintained her distance. At length, 
getting her within range of our long guns, we made sure of captur- 
ing her. Two shots struck her, but did not produce any serious 
damage. 

“ Never mind, she’ll be ours in a few minutes,” observed Dick, 
as he stood near me at our gun. We expected in a few minutes to 
send a broadside into her. 

Just then our topsails flapped loudly against the masts, and we 
lay becalmed. The brig almost immediately got out some long 
sweeps, and with her boats towing ahead, quickly crept away from 
us. I thought our captain would have ordered out the boats to 
attack her, but I suppose that he thought it was not worth risking 
the lives of the men by boarding a vessel with a crew so strong as 
she probably possessed. Thus we lay for some hours, rolling our 
sides into the smooth, shining waters. I heard some of the officers 
say that they could see through their glasses several other craft at 
anchor in a small bay protected by a fort. As evening approached 


303 


WIeJ( WEATHERHELM. 

a breeze sprung up, and making sail, we stood off the land. As 
soon as it was dark, however, the ship was put about, and we stood 
back again for some distance, when we hove to, and (he boats were 
lowered. The captain then announced that he intended to send 
four boats in, under the command of the first lieutenant; the third 
lieutenant taking charge of one, Mr. Harvey of another, and the 
boatswain of a fourth. Dick and I were in Mr. Harvey’s boat. 
The object was to cut out the brig we had chased into port, as well 
as any other vessels we could get hold of. It was just the sort of 
work sailors are fond of, though at the same time often as danger- 
ous as any they can engage in. They like it all the better, however, 
for the danger. 

The brig was to be the first attacked, and we hoped to surprise 
her, as probably some of her officers and crew were ashore. If we 
could take her we had little doubt about cutting out one or two of 
the others which had been seen at anchor. 

The night was very dark, and just suited for our purpose. The 
first lieutenant took the lead in one of the gigs. The two cutters 
and pinnace followed close astern, to prevent the risk of separating. 
In perfect silence we pulled away from the frigate with muffled 
oars. As yet we could see no light to guide us, but we expected to 
catch sight of some of those on shore as we drew nearer. To get 
up to the anchorage we had a point to round. There was the risk, 
should any sentry be posted there, that we should be discovered. 
The lieutenant accordingly gave it as wide a berth as he could 
Once round it, we could see the masts of the brig against the sky, 
but there was no light visible, nor was any movement perceptible 
on board her. We pulled on steadily, hoping to get up to her 
without being discovered. We fancied that the Frenchmen must 
be keeping a bad look-out. On and on we glided, like spirits of 
evil benl on mischief, when, as we were within a cable’s length of 
the brig, suddenly a flame of fire burst from her ports, with the 
loud reports of six heavy guns, followed by the rattle of musketry. 

“On, lads, on!” cried our commanding officer; and the boats 
casting off from each other, we pulled away as hard as we could. 

The first lieutenant and Mr. Harvey in our boat, pulled for her 
bows, one on either side, while the other boats were to board on her 
quarters. Our boat was to go round to the starboard side, which 
was the inner one. The instant we hooked on we clambered up, 
Mr. Harvey gallantly leading, Dick and I being close to him. We 
reached the deck without opposition, for the Frenchmen were all 
over on the other bow, attempting to beat back (he lieutenant and 


304 


WILL weather: 


iM. 


his people, so that we took them completely by surprise, and were 
cutting and slashing at them before they knew we were on deck. 
They quickly turned, however, to defend themselves, and this 
allowed the lieutenant and the gig’s crew to clamber on board. 
United, we drove them back from the forecastle. Some, to save 
themselves, tumbled down the fore-hatchway, but others, unable to 
get down, retreated aft. Here they joined the rest of the crew, 
who were fighting desperately with the third lieutenant and boat- 
swain’s party, but were being driven slowly back. 

The uproar we made, the flash of the pistols, the clash of our 
cutlasses, the shouts and shrieks of the combatants, served to arouse 
the garrison in the fort and the crews of the other vessels. The 
guns in the fort had not opened upon us, probably because the 
Frenchmen were afraid of hitting their friends, not knowing whether 
we had captured the brig or been driven back. 

The Frenchmen, as they generally do, fought bravely, but they 
could not withstand the desperate onslaught we made. Attacked 
as they were on both sides, they were unable to retreat, and those 
who had been aft leaped down the hatchways, crying out for 
quarter. Mr. Harvey told them that if they made further resistance 
they would be shot. He then called his boat’s crew away, as had 
been arranged, to cut the cable, and began to tow the brig out of 
harbor, while the crew of another boat flew aloft to loose the sails 
The canvas was let fall and rapidly sheeted home. The moment 
we began to move the fort opened fire. One of the first shot struck 
our boat, which at once commenced to fill. Strange to say, not a 
man among us was hit. We on this dropped alongside the brig and 
scrambled on board, just as the boat sunk beneath our feet. On 
this the lieutenant, seeing that the brig had got good way on her, 
calling his own boat’s crew and that of the pinnace, shoyed off, 
with the intention of taking one of the other vessels, leaving the 
third lieutenant and Mr. Harvey to carry out the brig. The shot 
from the fort came pitching about us, and we were hulled several 
times. One shot struck the taflfrail and as the splinters flew inboard 
the third lieutenant, who was at the helm, fell. I at once ran to 
help him, while Mr. Harvey took his place. He was badly wounded, 
I feared; but on recovering he desired to be left on deck, observing 
that should he be taken below, the French prisoners might, he 
feared, get hold of him, and hold him as a hostage, until we prom 
isetl to liberate them, or restore the brig. 

Soon after this we got out of range of the^guns f rom the fort. 
Looking astern, we could see the flashes of pistols, and could hear 


WILL WEATHEIIHELM. 


305 


the rattle of musketry, as if a sharp fight were going on. It was 
very evident that the first lieutenant was engaged in warm work. 
Possibly we thought he might have caught a tartar and been getting 
the worst of it. Mr. Harvey proposed going back to his assistance, 
but the lieutenant feared that if we did so we should run a great 
risk of getting the brig ashore, and might probably be captured. 
We therefore stood on until we were clear of the harbor. Just as 
we were rounding the point, and looking aft, I made out a vessel 
under way. 

“Hurrah, Mr. Lloyd has made a prize of another vessel,” I 
shouted. 

Some of the men doubted this, and declared that she was coming 
in chase of us. I could not deny that such might possibly be the 
case, but presently the fort opened upon her, which proved, as we 
supposed, that she was another prize. We accordingly hove to, out 
of range of the guns of the fort, to wait for her; still some of the 
men fancied that she might be after all, as they had at first sup- 
posed, an armed vessel coming out to try and retake us. To guard 
against this Mr. Harvey ordered us to load the guns. We found 
plenty of powder and shot, so that we felt sure, if she was an 
enemy, of beating her off. The breeze freshened as she got clear of 
the harbor and stood toward us. We were at our guns, ready to 
fire should she prove an enemy. All doubt was banished when, on 
approaching, a British cheer was raised from her deck, to which we 
replied, and making sail, we stood on together. 

In about half an hour we were up to the frigate, when both prizes 
hove to to windward of her, that we might send our prisoners as 
well as our wounded men on board. Besides the third lieutenant 
we had had only two hurt in capturing our prize, the “ Aimable;” 
but the first lieutenant, in capturing the other, the “ Flore, ” had 
had two men killed and three wounded, besides the boatswain and 
himself slightly. Not only had the crew of the “ Flore ” resisted 
toughly, but boats had come off from the shore and attempted to 
retake her, after her cable had been cut. The “ Flore ” had, how- 
ever, escaped with fewer shot in her hull than we had received. 

During the night we ran off shore, and as soon as it was daylight 
the carpenters came on board to repair our damages. The captain 
had meantime directed Mr. Harvey to take charge of the “ Aim- 
able,” and to carry her into Plymouth. 

“ I have applied for you, Weatherholm and Haggpr, to form part 
of my crew,” he said, on returning on board. “ I know you are 


306 


WILL WEATHERH 





anxious to get home, as it will he some time probably before the 
frigate herself returns to port.” 

I thanked him heartily, and Hagger, I, and the other men, sent 
for our bags. As soon as all the arrangements had been completed 
we made sail and stood for the British Channel. The “Flore,” 
which sailed in our company, had been placed under charge of the 
second master. We had been directed to keep close together so that 
we might afford each other support. The wind being light, we did 
not lose sight of the frigate until just at sundown, when we saw her 
making sail, apparently in chase of some vessel, to the southward. 
Our brig was a letter of marque, and had a valuable cargo on 
board, so that she was worth preserving, and would give us, we 
hoped, a nice little sum of prize-money. 

For long I had not been in such good spirits, as I hoped soon to 
be able to get home and to see my beloved wife, even if I could not 
manage to obtain my discharge, for which I intended to try. When 
it was my watch below I could scarcely sleep for thinking of the 
happiness which I believed was in store for me. 

We had kept two Frenchmen, one to act as cook, the other, who 
spoke a little English — having been for some time a prisoner in 
England — as steward. They were both good-natured, merry fel- 
lows. The cook’s name was Pierre Je Grande, the other we called 
Jacques Little. He was a small, dapper little Frenchman, and 
played the violin. He would have fiddled all day long, for he pre- 
ferred it 1o anything else; but he could not get any one to dance to 
him except Le Grande, who, as soon as he had washed up his pots 
and kettles, came on deck, and began capering about to Jacques’s 
tunes in the most, curious fashion possible. 

The rest of us had plenty to do in getting the brig into order, and 
occasionally taking a spell at the pumps, for she leaked more than 
was pleasant. We tried to discover where the water came in, but 
could not succeed. However, as the leak was not serious it did not 
trouble us much. 

As we were so small a crew, we were divided into only two 
watches. Mr. Harvey had one and gave me charge of the other, at 
which I felt pleased, for it showed that he placed confidence in me. 
I understood navigation, which none of the other men did, and I 
had a right to consider myself a good seaman. 


* 




i 


307 



WEATHERHELM. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

We are chased by a large vessel— Overtaken by a storm— A stem chase— The 
stranger is dismasted— We are in a dangerous position— Loss of our crew — 
The gale moderates— The brig gives signs of sinking— We set about building 
a raft — An unexpected appearance— Jacques and his fiddle— The raft com- 
pleted and launched— The first night— Dick and I compare notes— Troubled 
sleep — A dreadful reality— My companions swept overboard— Clinging on 
for life. 

Two days had passed by since we left the frigate. It was my 
middle watch below, and I fancied that the greater part of it had 
passed by when I heard Mr. Harvey’s voice shouting, “ All hands 
on deck, and make sail.” 

I was on my feet in a moment, and looking astern as I Caiiie Up, 
I saw through the gloom of night a large vessel to the southward, 
apparently standing to the eastward, while a smaller one, which I 
took to be the “Flore,” had hauled her wind, and was steering 
west. 

“ She is taking care of number one,” observed Dick to me, as we 
together went aloft to loose the t op-gallant sails, for, like a careful 
officer, being short-handed, Mr. Harvey had furled them at sun- 
down. We then rigged out studden sail booms, hoping, should the 
stranger not have perceived us, to get a good distance before day- 
light. Soon after the first streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern 
sky, we saw her alter her course in pursuit of us. We had, how 
ever, got a good start, and, unless the wind fell, we might still hope 
to escape her. 

At first it was doubtful whether she would follow us or the 
“Flore.” If she should follow her, we should be safe, as she 
would have little chance of capturing us both. As the day drew on 
the wind increased, and at length it became evident that the stranger 
intended to try and take us. 

“ She may, after all, be an English frigate,” said Dick to me. 
“Mr. Harvey doesn’t suppose so, or he wouldn’t be so anxious 
to escape her,” I answered. “He thinks it best to be on the safe 
side and run no risk in the matter. ’ ’ 

We were all at our stations, including the cook and steward, who 
were told to stand by and pull and haul as they might be ordered. 

I asked the latter whether he thought the ship in chase of us was 
English or French. 

He shrugged his shoulders, observing that he was not much of a 


308 


WILL WEATHEREpLM^ 

sailor, and could not tell one ship from another unless he saw her 
flag. 

Mr. Harvey stood with his glass in his hand, every now and then 
giving a look through it astern. Then he glanced up at the sails. 
The top gallant masts were bending like willow wands. * Every 
instant the wind was increasing, and the sea was getting up; still 
he was unwilling to shorten sail while there was a possibility of 
escaping. 

At last, after taking another look through his telescope, he shut 
it up, observing to me, “ She’s French! there’s no doubt about it. 
We’ll hold on as long as we can, she hasn’t caught us yet. ” 

Scarcely two minutes after this there came a crash. Away went 
both our top-gallant masls, and as I looked aloft, I was afraid that 
the topmasts would follow. Still the wreck must be cleared. Dick 
and I sprung up the main rigging, and I hurried aloft to clear the 
main-top-gallant mast, while two others, imitating our example, 
ascended the fore rigging. The brig was now plunging her bows 
into the fast-rising seas. It was a difficult and dangerous work we 
had undertaken, but getting out our knives, we succeeded in cutting 
away the rigging, and the masts and yards with their canvas fell 
overboard. 

“ That’s one way of shortening sail,” said Dick as we came on 
deck. “ To my mind, the sooner we get a couple of reefs in the top- 
sails the better.” 

This was indeed very evident. Mr. Harvey taking the helm, the 
rest of us went aloft and performed the operation. We were too 
much occupied to look at the frigate. When we came down off the 
yards, we saw that she had shortened sail, but not before she also 
had carried away her fore-top-gallant mast. We were still going as 
rapidly as before through the water, but the increase of wind gave 
the advantage to the larger ship, which kept drawing closer. 

I have not spoken of time. The day was passing, and Mr. Har- 
vey ordered the steward and cook to bring us some food on de^k, 
for no one could be spared below to obtain it. Already it was some 
hours past noon. If we could keep ahead until darkness came 
down, we might still manage to escape by altering our course, as 
soon as we had lost sight of the frigate. At length, however, we 
saw her yaw. She had got us within range of her guns. She fired, 
and two shots came whizzing past us. On this Mr. Harvey ordered 
us to run out two long guns, brass six-pounders, through the stern 
ports, and to fire in return. 

We blazed away as fast as we could run them in and load, but 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


309 


it was a difficult matter to take aim with the heavy sea on through 
which we were plunging. We managed, however, to pitch two or 
three of our shot on board, but what damage we caused we could 
not tell. 

Again the frigate yawed and fired all her foremost guns. One of 
the shot came crashing into the mainmast, and two others hulled 
us. I sprung toward the mast to ascertain the extent of damage it 
had received. It seemed a wonder, with so large a piece cut out of 
it, that it could stand, and I expected every moment to see it go. 
Still, should the wind not increase, I thought it might be preserved, 
and Mr. Harvey calling all the hands not engaged at the guns to 
bring as many spars as could be collected, we began fishing it. We 
were thus engaged when two more shot pitched on board, carrying 
away part of the bulwarks and capsizing one of the guns. 

Another followed, bringing one of our men to the deck with his 
head shattered to pieces. Our position was becoming desperate. 
Presently two more shot struck us between wind and water. Sev- 
eral of the men, who had before shown no lack of courage, cried 
out that we had better strike before we were sent to the bottom. 

“ Not while our masts stand,” answered Mr. Harvey firmly. 

We had had but slight experience in fishing masts, so I had little 
confidence in its strength. Mr. Harvey then called me aft to work 
one of the guns. 

I again pitched a shot into the frigate. My great hope was that I 
might knock away one of her spars, and give us a better chance of 
escaping. The wind had been drawing round to the westward of 
south W e still kept before it. Presently the frigate braced up her 
.yards, intending apparently to fire her whole broadside at us. As 
she did so, the wind suddenly inci eased. Over she heeled. She 
was almost concealed from sight by the clouds of spray and dense 
masses of rain which came suddenly down like a sheet from the sky. 

Even before Mr. Harvey could give the word we were letting fly 
everything. The brig rushed on through the foaming seas. When 
I looked aft, I could just distinguish the dark hull of the frigate 
rolling helplessly from side to side, her masts gone by the board. 

On we flew, soon losing sight of her altogether. Though our 
masts were standing, our canvas, except the fore-top-sail, was blown 
to ribbons. The storm showed no signs of abating, for although 
there was a short lull, the wind again blew as hard as ever. The 
thunder roared, the lightning flashed from the clouds, and the night 
became pitchy dark. The seas increased, and, as they came rolling 
up, threatened to poop us. 


310 


WILL WEATHERI^uff. 

How long the gale might last it was impossible to say. Before it 
had abated we might have run on the Irish coast. It would be 
wiser to heave the brig to while there was time; but the question 
was whether the main-mast would stand. The fore- top-sail was 
closely reefed, the helm was put down; but as the vessel was com- 
ing up to the wind, a sea struck us, a tremendous crash followed, 
the mainmast, as we had feared, went at the place where it had 
been wounded, and, falling overboard, was dashed with violence 
against the side, Which it threatened every moment to stave in. 

Mr. Harvey, seizing an ax and calling on us to follow and assist 
in clearing away the wreck before more damage was done, sprung 
forward. At any moment the sea, striking th* 1 vessel* might sweep 
us off the deck. With the energy almost of despair, we worked 
away with axes and knives, and at length saw the mast drop clear 
of the side. While we were still endeavoring to clear away the 
wreck of the mast, Mr. Harvey had sent one of the crew below to 
search for some more axes, as we had only three among us. Just 
at this juncture he came on deck, exclaiming, in a voice of alarm, 
“ The water is rushing in like a mill sluice!” 

“Then we must pump it out,” cried Mr. Harvey, “ or try and 
stop it if we can. Man the pumps!” 

We had two each, worked by a couple of hands, and we began 
laboring away, knowing that our lives might depend upon our ex- 
ertions. 

The brig lay to more easily than I should have supposed possi- 
ble, though we were still exposed to the danger of an overwhelming 
sea breaking on board us. We got the hatches, however, battened 
down, and kept a look-out, ready to catch holtf of the stanchions or 
stump of the main- mast, to save ourselves, should we see it coming* 
As soon as the pumps had been manned, Mr. Harvey himself went 
below, accompanied by Dick and another hand, carrying a lantern 
to try and ascertain where the water was coming in, with the great- 
est rapidity. 

It appeared to me that he was a long time absent. He said noth- 
ing when he at last came up, by which I guessed that he had been 
unable to discover the leak. “ As long as there is life there’s hope, 
lads,” he said; “ we must labor on to the last;” and he took the 
place of a man who had knocked off at the pumps. He worked 
away as hard as any man on board. After some time I begged that 
I might relieve him and he went and secured himself to a stanchion 
on the weather side. I at last was obliged to cry “ Spell hoi” and 
let another man take my place. 


\ 

WILL WEATHERHELM# 311 

I had just got up to where Mr. Harvey was seated on deck, and 
having taken hold of the same stanchion, remarked that the brig re- 
mained hove to better than I should have expected. 

“ Yes,” he observed; “ the foremast is stepped much further aft 
than in English vessels, but I wish that we had been able to get up 
preventer stays; it would have made the mast more secure.” 

Scarcely had he uttered the words than a tremendous sea came 
rolling up and burst over the vessel. 

“ Hold on for your lives, lads!” shouted Mr. Harvey 

Down came the sea, sweeping over the deck. I thought the brig 
would never rise again. At the same instant I heard a loud crash. 
Covered as [ was with water, I could, however, see nothing for sev- 
eral seconds; I supposed, indeed, that the brig was sinking. I 
thought of my wife, my uncle and aunt, and our cozy little home at 
Southsea, and of many an event in my life. The water roared in 
my ears, mingled with fearful shrieks. Chaos seemed round me. 
Minutes, almost hours, seemed to go by, and 1 continued to hear 
the roar of the seas, the crashing of timbers, and the cries of my 
fellow-men. 

It must have been only a few seconds when the brig rose once 
more, and looking about the deck I saw that our remaining mast 
had gone as had the bowsprit, while, besides Mr. Harvey, I could 
distinguish but one man alone on the deck, holding on to the stump 
of the mainmast. At first I thought that Mr. Harvey might have 
been killed, but he was only stunned, and speedily recovered. He 
got on his feet and looked about him, as if considering what was to 
be done. 

“ We’re in a bad state, Wetherholm, but, as I before said, while 
there’s life there’s hope. We must try to keep the brig afloat until 
the morning, and perhaps, as we are in the track of vessels coming 
in and out of the Channel, we may be seen and- taken off. Where 
are the rest of the men?” 

“ I am afraid, sir, they are washed overboard, except the man we 
see there; who he is I can’t make out.” 

“ Call him,” said Mr. Harvey. * 

“ Come aft here!” I shouted. 

“ Ay, ay!” answered a voice which, to my great satisfaction, I 
recognized as that of Dick Hagger. He did not, however, move* 
but I saw that he was engaged in casting himself loose. He at length, 
staggered aft to where we were holding on. 

“ Did you call me, sir?” he asked. 


312 WILL WEATHERH^LM.| 

“Yes, my man. Where are the rest of the people?” said Mr. 
Harvey. 

“ That’s more than I can tell, sir,” answered Dick. “ I saw the 
sea coming, and was making myself fast, when I got a lick on the 
head which knocked the senses out of me.” After saying this, he 
looked forward, and for the first time seemed to be aware that we 
three, as far as we could tell, were the only persons left on board. 

The blast which had carried away the foremast seemed to be the 
last of the gale. The wind dropped almost immediately, and though 
the seas came rolling up and tumbled the hapless brig about, no 
others of the height of the former one broke over us. Our young 
officer was quickly himself again, and summoned Hagger and me to 
the pumps. 

We all worked away, knowing that our lives might depend upon 
our exertions. Though we did not gain on the water, still the brig 
remained buoyant. This encouraged us to hope that we might keep 
her afloat until we could be taken off. It was heavy work. Dick 
and I tried to save our officer, who had less physical strength than 
we had, as much as possible. 

Hour after hour we labored on, the brig rolling fearfully in the 
trough of the sea, and ever and anon the water rushed over us, 
while we held fast to save ourselves from being carried away. At 
length we could judge by the movement of the vessel that the sea 
was going down, as we had expected it would do since there was 
no longer any wind to agitate it. 

At length daylight broke, but when we looked out over the tum- 
bling, lead-colored ocean, not a sail could we discern. We sounded 
the well, and found eight feet of water. Our boats had all been de- 
stroyed — indeed, had one remained, she would even now scarcely 
have lived. 

“We may keep the brig afloat some hours longer, but that is un- 
certain,” said Mr. Harvey, after he had ceased pumping to recover 
strength. “ We must get a raft built without delay, as the only 
means of saving our lives. At present we could scarcely hold on to 
it, but as the sea is going down, we will wait to launch it overboard 
till the brig gives signs of being about to founder.” 

We agreed with him. He told us to take off the main hatch, and 
get up some spars which we knew were stowed below. While we 
were thus occupied, my head was turned aft. The companion hatch 
was drawn back, and, greatly to our surprise, there appeared the 
head of Jacques Little. He was rubbing his eyes, looking more 
asleep than awake. 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 313 

“ Mafoi /” he exclaimed, gazing forward with an expression of 
horror on his countenance, “ vat hav happened?” 

“ Come along here and lend a hand, you skulking fellow!” cried 
Dick. “ Where have you been all this time?” 

“ Sleep, I suppose, in de cabin,” answered Jacques. “ Vere are 
all de rest?” 

“Gone overboard,” said Dick. “Come along, there’s no time 
for jabbering.” 

“Vat, an Le Grande?” exclaimed Jacques. “ Oh! comma je suis 
fache ! Dat is bad, very bad. ” 

Jacques had evidently been takings a glass or two of cogfiac to 
console himself, and even now was scarcely recovered from its 
effects. We made him, however, help us, and once aroused, he was 
active enough. Between whiles, as we worked at the raft, we took 
a spell at the pumps. At last Mr. Harvey told us that our time 
would be best spent on the raft. .We sent Jacques to collect all the 
rope he could find, as well as to bring up some carpenter’s tools and 
nails. Having lashed the spars together, we fixed the top of the 
main hatch to it, and then brought up the doors from the cabin, 
and 3uch portions of the bulk -heads as could be most easily knocked 
away. We thus in a short time put togelher a raft, capable of car- 
rying four persons, provided the sea was not very rough. Most of 
the bulwarks on the starboard or lee side had been knocked away; 
it was therefore an easy task to clear a space sufficient to launch the 
raft overboard. We hauled it along to the side, ready to shove into 
the water directly the brig should give signs of settling. Still she 
might float for an hour or two longer. 

Dick, while searching for the spars, had found a spare royal, 
which, after being diminished in size, would serve as a sail should 
the wind be sufficiently light to enable us to set one. We put aside 
one of the smaller spars to fit as a mast, with sufficient rope for 
sheets and halyards. 

Mr. Harvey gave an anxious look round, but not a sail appeared 
above the horizon. He then ordered Jacques to go below and bring 
up all tjie provisions he could get at, and a couple of breakers of 
water. Fortunately there were two, both full, kept outside the 
cabin for the use of the pantry. We soon had these hoisted up, and 
Jacques speedily returned with a couple of baskets, in which he had 
stowed some biscuits, several bottles of wine, some preserved fruits, 
and a few sausages. 

“ Come, lads, we are not likely to be ill provisioned,” said Mr. 
Harvey, making the remark probably to keep up our spirits. 


314 


WILL WEATHEEH^LM. 1 N 


Once more he sounded the well while we were giving the. finishing 
strokes to our raft. He did not say the depth of water in the hold, 
hut observed, in a calm tone, “ Now we’ll get our raft overboard.” 
We had secured stays with tackles to the outer side, so as to prevent 
it dipping into the water. By all four working together, and two 
easing away the tackles, we lowered it without accident. We had 
found some spare oars, and had secured a couple of long poles to 
enable us to shove it off from the side. There were also beckets 
fixed to it, and lashings, with which to secure ourselves as well as 
the casks and baskets of provisions. 

“ Be smart, lads, leap on to the raft!” cried Mr. Harvey. 

Dick and I obeyed, and he lowered us down the basket, but 
Jacques, instead of following our example, darted aft and disap- 
peared down the companion hatchway. 

“Come back, you mad fellow!” exclaimed Mr. Harvey, still 
standing on the deck, wishing lo be the last man to leave the brig. 

“You had better come, sir,” I could not help saying; for I 
feared, from the depth the. brig already was in the water, that she 
might at any moment take her last plunge. 

We were not kept long in suspense. Again Jacques appeared, 
carrying his fiddle and fiddlestick in one hand, and a bottle of cognac 
in the other, and, making a spring, leaped on the raft. Mr. Harvey 
leaped after him. 

“ Cast off,” he cried, “ quick, quick!” 

We let go the ropes which held the raft to the brig, and, seizing 
the poles, shoved away with all our might; then taking the paddles 
in hand, we exerted ourselves to the utmost to get as far as we could 
away from the sinking vessel. 

We were not a moment loo soon, for almost immediately after- 
ward she settled forward, and her stern lifting, down she glided 
beneath the ocean, and we were left floating on the still troubled 
waters. Yet we had cause to be thankful that we had saved our 
lives. We were far better off than many poor fellows have been 
under similar circumstances; for we had provisions, the sea was 
becoming calmer and calmer, and the weather promised to be fine. 
We could scarcely, we thought, escape being seen by some vessel 
either outward or homeward bound. There was too much sea on to 
permit us, without danger, to set sail, but we got the mast stepped 
and stayed up in readiness. The wind was still blowing from the 
southward, and we hoped it would continue to come from that 
direction, as we might thus make the Irish coast, or if not, run up 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


315 


St. George’s Channel, where we should be in Hie track of numerous 
vessels. 

The day was now drawing to a close, and we prepared to spend 
our first night on the raft. Mr. Harvey settled that we should keep 
watch and watch, he with Jacques in one and Dick and I in the 
other. The weather did not look altogether satisfactory; bat as the 
sea had gone down, we hoped that we should enjoy a quiet night, 
and get some sleep, which we all needed. 

Jacques seemed in better spirits than the rest of us; he either did 
not understand our dangerous position, or was too light-hearted to 
let it trouble him. 

“ Why should we be dull, messieurs,” he said, “when we can 
sing and play?” And he forthwith took his fiddle, which he had 
stuck up in one of the baskets, and began scraping away a merry 
air, which, jarring on our feelings, had a different effect to what he 
had expected. Still he scraped on, every now and then trolling 
forth snatches of French songs. At last, Mr. Harvey told him to 
put up his fiddle for the present, and to lie down and go to sleep. 

“ I shall want you to look out by and by, when I keep my 
watch,” he said, “and meantime you, Weatherholm and Hagger, 
take charge of the raft, and I hope in a short time to be able to let 
you lie down.” 

Saying this, Mr. Harvey laid down on a small platform which he 
had built for the purpose of enabling two of us at a time to be free 
of the wash of the water. Dick and I kept our places, lashed to the 
raft with our paddles in our hands. Our young officer was asleep 
almost immediately he placed his head upon the piece of timber 
which ran across the platform and served to support the mast. 

“ What do you think of matters, Will?” asked Dick, after a long 
silence. “If it comes on to blow, will this raft hold together?” 

“I fear not,” I answered; “at all events, we should find it a 
hard job to keep alive on it if the sea were to get up, for it would 
wash over and over us, and although we might hold on, our pro- 
visions would be carried away. I hope, however, before another 
day is over that we shall be picked up by some homeward-bound 
craft; but don’t let such thoughts trouble you, Dick. Having done 
our best, all we can do is to pray that we may be preserved.” 

“ I don’t let them trouble me,” answered Dick, “ but still they 
will come into my head. I’ve fought for my king and country, 
and have done my duty, and am prepared for the worst.” 

“ You should trust rather to One who died for sinners,” I felt my- 
self bound to say. ‘ ‘ He will save our souls though our bodies perish,” 


316 


WILL WEATHEKHkLM, 


“ I have never been much of a scholar, but I know that,” an- 
swered Dick, “ and I believe that our officer knows it, too. If he 
didn’t he would not be as sound asleep as he is now.” 

I was very glad to hear Dick say this, for although we were at 
present much better off than we might have been, I was fully alive 
to our precarious situation. Even should the weather prove fine 
we might not reach the shore for many a day, and our provisions 
and water would not hold out long, while, should it come on to 
blow, they might be lost, and we should be starved, even if the raft 
should hold together and we had strength to cling on to it. 

Dick and I occasionally exchanged remarks after this, but still 
the time went on very slowly. Neither of us had the heart to call 
up Mr. Harvey; but about midnight, as far as I could judge, he 
started up, and calling Jacques, told Dick and me to lie down. We 
did so thankfully, securing ourselves with lashings one on either 
side of the mast, pefore I closed my eyes I observed that not a 
star was twinkling in the sky, which seemed overcast down to the 
horizon. Though there was not much wind there was rather more 
than there had been, and there was still too much sea on to allow 
us to set sail. 

I was never much given to dreaming, but on this occasion, though 
I closed my eyes and was really asleep, I fancied all sorts of dread- 
ful things. Now the raft appeared to be sinking down to the deplhs 
of the ocean, now it rose to the top of a tremendous sea, to sink 
once more amid the tumbling waters. 1 heard strange cries and 
shrieks, and then the howling of a gale as if in the rigging of a 
ship. I thought I was once more on board the brig, and saw the 
sea which had swept away my shipmates come rolling up toward 
us. Again the shrieks which I had heard sounded in my ears, and 
I felt the wild waters rushing over me. I started up to find that it 
was a dreadful reality. The portion of the raft to which I was 
clinging was almost submerged. The larger part appeared broken 
up. I looked round for my companions. The night was pitchy 
dark, I could see no one. I called ^to them, there was no reply 
I felt across to where Dick had been — he was gone! 

“ Dick Hagger, Mr. Harvey, Jacques, where are you?” I shouted. 

Dick’s voice replied, “Heave a rope and haul us in.” I felt 
about for one, but not a line could I find, except the lashings at- 
tached tn the raft. 

“ Where are you?” I again cried out. 

“ Here, with Mr. Harvey; I tried to save him,” was the answer. 
Alas, how helpless I felt! With frantic haste I endeavored to 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


317 


draw out some of the lashings, in the hopes of forming a line long 
enough to reach Dick, but my efforts were in vain. The raft was 
tossing wildly about. It was with the greatest difficulty I could 
cling on to it, pressing my knees round one of the cross timbers. I 
heard once more the cry: 

“ Good-bye, Will, God help you!” and then I knew that Dick 
and the young officer he was trying to save had sunk beneath the 
waves. 

Again and again I shouted, but no voice replied. Though thus 
deft alone I still desired to live, and continued clinging to the shat- 
tered raft, tossed about by the foaming seas. Frequently the water 
rushed over me; it was difficult to keep my head above it long 
enough to regain my breath before another wave came rolling in. 
It seemed to me an age that I was thus clinging on in pitchy dark- 
ness, but I believe the catastrophe really occurred only a short time 
before daylight. In what direction the wind was blowing I could 
not tell. When the raft rose to the top of a sea I endeavored to look 
round. No sail was in sight, nor could I distinguish the land. I 
felt that I could not hold out many hours longer. One of the 
baskets still remained lashed to the raft, but its contents had been 
washed out, and the casks of water had been carried away. Hour 
after hour passed by. There was less sea running, and the wind had 
somewhat gone down. The thoughts of my wife still kept me up, 
and made me resolve to struggle to the last for life, but I was grow- 
ing weaker and weaker. At length I fell off into a kind of stupor, 
though I still retained sufficient sense to cling to the raft. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

At the last gasp — Taken on board the “ Solway Castle ” Indiaman— Homeward 
bound— Hopes of freedom at last— We enter the Thames— Ship brings up at 
the mouth of the Medway— Visited by a press-gang— Carried on board the 
“ Glatton,” 56 guns, Captain Henry Trollope— Sail to join the Northern fleet 
under Admiral Duncan— Reach Yarmouth Roads— Sent to join a squadron 
off Helvoetsluis— The “ Glatton ” encounters a French squadron of four 
frigates, two corvettes, a brig, and cutter— We engage them, and our heavy 
carrortades fearfully cut them up— They take to flight and escape— While 
returning to Yarmouth I fall overboard— Find a boat— Picked up by a cutter 
bound to Plymouth— Becalmed off the Eddystone— Am again seized by a 
press-gang and taken on board the “ Cleopatra ”— My despair— Sail for the 
West Indies— A desperate battle— Overpowered by numbers— We strike our 
flag— Miserable contemplations. 

How long I bad remained thus I could not tell, when I was 
aroused by bearing a man’s voice, and looking up, saw a boat close 


318 


WILL WEATHERH^LM.' 


to me, beyond her a ship hove to. One of the crew sprung on to 
the raft, and casting off the lashings, he and others leaning over the 
bow of the boat, dragged me on board. After this I knew nothing 
until I found myself in a hammock on board a large merchantman. 
A surgeon soon afterward came to me. 

“ You will do well enough now, my man,” he said to me in a 
kind voice; but you were almost gone when we picked you up.” 

I inquired what ship I was on board. 

“The ‘Solway Castle,’ homeward-bound East Indiaman,” he 
answered. 

This was indeed satisfactory ne tvs, as I should now, I trusted, 
be able to get back to my dear wife without the necessity of asking 
leave. I might indeed almost consider myself a free man, for I did 
not feel that it would be my duty to return to the “ Galatea,” con- 
sidering that the prize I had been put on board had gone down. 
After the doctor had left me the sick bay attendant brought me a 
basin of soup which wonderfully revived me, and in shorter time 
than the doctor said he expected I could not help acknowledging 
that I was almost myself again. 

I felt very sad as I thought of the loss of young Mr. Harvey and 
my old friend Dick Hagger; still the hopes of so soon being at home 
again made me think less of them than I might otherwise have 
done, and contributed greatly to restore my strength. I was treated 
in the kindest way by the doctor, and many others on board, who, 
having heard my history, commiserated my hitherto hard fate. A 
fair breeze carried us up Channel. When I was able to go on deck 
I kept a look- out, half expecting to see an enemy’s ship bear down 
on us, although, unless she should be a powerful frigate or line-of- 
battle ship, she would have had a hard job to capture the “ Solway 
Castle,” which was well armed, and carried a numerous crew. 
Still I could not help recollecting the old saying, “ There’s many a 
slip between the cup and the lip. ” The truth was, I had not yet re- 
covered my full strength, and the doctor remarked that I required 
tonics to set me up and drive gloomy thoughts out of my head. 
We kepi well over to the English coast to avoid the risk of falling 
in with French cruisers. We had got abreast of Portland when a 
strange sail was made out to the southward, which, as she was seen 
edging in toward the land, it was supposed without doubt was an 
enemy. The passengers, of whom there were a good number re- 
turning after a long absence from India, began to look very blue. 

“Never fear, ladies and gentlemen,” I heard the captain observe,. 
“ we’ll show the Frenchman that we’re not afraid of him, and the 


'WILL WEATHERHELM. 


319 


chances are, make him afraid of us.” Saying this he ordered the 
studden sails we had carried to be taken in, and the royals to be set, 
and then bringing the ship on a wind, boldly stood out toward the 
stranger. The effect was as desired. The stranger, hauling her 
wind, stood away to the southward, taking us probably for a line- 
of- battle ship, which the stout old “ tea-chest ” resembled at a dis- 
tance. By yawing and towing a sail overboard we stopped our way, 
until the captain thought the object had been answered, when on :e 
more, squaring away the yards, we continued our course up the 
Channel. 

As we passed the Isle of Wight I cast many a look at its pictur- 
esque shores, hoping that a pilot boat might put off at the Needles, 
and that I might have the opportunity of returning in her, but none 
boarded U3 until we were near the Downs, when, unfortunately, I 
was below, and before I could get on deck the boat was away. 
However, I consoled myself with the reflection that in another day 
or two we should be safe in the Thames, and I resolved not to lose 
a moment in starting for Portsmouth as soon as I stepped on shore. 
I thought that I might borrow some money from my friend the 
doctor, or some of the passengers, who would, I believed, willingly 
have lent it me, or if not, I made up my mind to walk the whole 
distance, and beg for a crust of breau and a drink of water should 
there be no other means of obtaining food. My spirits rose as the 
lofty cliffs of Dover hove in sight, and rounding the North Fore- 
land, we at length, the wind shifting, stood majestically up the 
Thames. When off the Medway, the wind fell, and the tide being 
against us, we had to come to an anchor. We had not been there 
long when a man-of-war’s boat came alongside. I observed that all 
her crew were armed, and that she had a lieutenant and midshipman 
in her, both roughish-looking characters. They at once stepped on 
board with an independent, swaggering air. The lieutenant desired 
the captain to muster all hands. My heart sunk as I heard the 
order. I was on the point of stowing myself away, for as I did not 
belong to the ship, I hoped to escape. Before I had time to do so, 
however, the midshipman, a big whiskered fellow, more like a 
boatswain’s mate than an officer, -with two men, came below and 
ordered me up with the rest. The captain was very indignant at 
the behavior of the lieutenant and the midshipman, declaring that 
his crew were protected, and had engaged to sail in another of the 
company’s ships after they had had a short leave on shore. 

“ Well and good for those who are protected, but those who are 
not must accompany me,” answered the lieutenant. “We want 


f 

320 WILL WEATHERIl'feLMi 

hands to man our men-of-war who protect you merchantmen, and 
hands we must get by hook or by crook.” Having called over the 
names he selected twenty of the best men who had no protection. 
I was in hopes I should escape, when the midshipman pointed me 
out. 

The lieutenant inquired if I belonged to the ship. I had to ac- 
knowledge the truth, when, refusing to hear anything I had to say, 
though I pleaded hard to be allowed to go free, he ordered me with 
the rest into the boat alongside. Having got all the men he could 
obtain the lieutenant steered for Sheerness, and took us alongside a 
large ship lying off the dockyard, where she had evidently been 
fitting out. She looked to me as we approached her very much like 
an Indiaman, and such I found she had been. She was, in truth, 
the ” Glatton,” of one thousand two hundred and fifty-six tons, 
which had a short time before been purchased, with several other 
ships, from the East India Company by the British Government. 
She was commanded, I found, by Captain Henry Trollope, and 
carried fifty-six guns, twenty-eight long eighteen pounders on the 
upper deck, and twenty-eight carronades, sixty-eight pounders, on 
the lower deck. Her crew consisted in all of three hundred and 
twenty men and boys, our arrival almost making up the comple- 
ment. The ship’s company was superior to that of most ships in 
those days, although somewhat scanty considering the heavy guns 
we had to work. 

We were welcomed on board, and I heard the lieutenant remark 
that he had made a good haul of prime hands. It was a wonder, 
men taken as we had been, could submit to the severe discipline of 
a man-of-war, but all knew that they had no help for it. They had 
to run the risk of being flogged or perhaps hung as mutineers if 
they took any steps to show their discontent, or to grin and bear it. 

Host of them, as I diet myself, preferred the latter alternative. I 
had never before seen such enormous guns as were our sixty-eight 
pounder carronades, larger than any yet used in the service — in- 
deed their muzzles were almost of equal diameter with the ports, so 
that they could only be pointed right abeam. We had neither bow 
nor stern chasers, which was also a great drawback. Some of the 
men, when looking at the guns, declared that they should never be 
able to fight them; however, in that they were mistaken. Practice 
makes perfect, and we were kept exercising them for several hours 
every da^. 

The ship was nearly ready for sea, and soon after I was taken on 
board we sailed from Sheerness, for the purpose of re-enforcing the 


321 


W-fc^ _ erhelm. 

North Sea Fleet under Admiral Duncan. In four or five days, 
during which we were kept continually exercising the guns, we 
arrived in Yarmouth Roads. Scarcely had we dropped anchor than 
we were ordered off again to join a squadron of two sail of the line 
and some frigates, commanded by Captain Savage of the “ Albion,” 
sixty-four, supposed to be cruising off Helvoetsluis. 

Next morning, long before daylight— it had gone about two bells 
in the middle watch — we made the coast of Flanders, and through 
the gloom discovered four large ships under the land. The wind, 
which had hitherto been fresh, now fell, and we lay becalmed for 
some hours in sight of Goree steeple, which bore south by east. 
We and the strangers all this time did not change our relative posi- 
tions. That they were enemies we had no doubt, but of what force 
we could not make out. As the day wore on a breeze sprung up 
from the north-west; at the same time we saw two other good-sized 
ships join the four already in view. We instantly made all sail, 
and stood toward the strangers, making signals as soon as we got 
near enough for them to distinguish our bunting. No reply being 
made we were satisfied that they were an enemy’s squadron. There 
were four frigates and two ship corvettes, while a large brig corvette 
and an armed cutter were seen beating up to join them from lee- 
ward. 

“ We’re in a pretty mess. If all those fellows get round us they’ll 
blow us out of the water, and send us to the bottom,” I heard one 
of the sailors who had been pressed out of the Indiaman observe. 

“ Our captain doesn’t think so, my boy,” answered an old hand. 
“ Depend upon it, he intends trying what the mounseers will think 
of our big guns.” 

The order was now given to clear for action, and we stood on 
wdth a light breeze in our favor toward the enemy. The wind 
freshening, the four frigates, in close line of battle, stood to the 
north-east. Shortly afterward they shortened sail, backing their 
mizzen-top sails occasionally to keep in their stations. We were 
nearing them fast. Up went the glorious flag of Old England, the 
St. George’s ensign, just as we arrived abreast of the three rearmost 
ships, the two corvettes and the smallest of the frigates. Our cap- 
tain ordered us, however, not to fire a shot until we had got up to 
the largest, which he believed from her size to be the commodore’s, 
and intended to attack. 

“ I wonder what we are going to be after?” I heard the man from 
the Indiaman inquire. “ We seem to be mighty good friends; per- 
haps, after all, those ships are English.” 
n 


322 


WILL wi J > 

V 4, 

“ Wait a bit, my boy, you’ll see,” answered the old hand, “ our 
captain knows what he’s about. If we can knock the big one to 
pieces, the others will very soon give in.” 

The ship ahead of the commodore had now fallen to leeward, so 
that the latter formed the second in the line. Not a word was 
spoken. I should have said that as we had not men sufficient for 
our guns, for both broadsides at the same time, we were divided 
into gangs, one of which, having loaded and run out the gun, was 
directed to leave it to be pointed and fired by the others, picked 
hands, and we were then to run over and do the same to the gun on 
the other side. We thus hoped to make amends for the smallness 
of our numbers. 

The ship we were about to attack was evidently much larger than 
the “ Glatton,” upward of three hundred tons as it was afterward 
proved, but that did not daunt our gallant captain. We continued 
standing on until we ranged close up alongside her, when our cap- 
tain hailed and desired her commander to surrender to his Britannic 
majesty’s ship. No verbal reply was made, but instead, the French 
colors and a broad pennant were hoisted, showing that the ship we 
were about to engage was, as we had supposed, that of the commo- 
dore. Scarcely had the colors been displayed, than she opened her 
fire, her example being followed by the other French ships. We 
waited to reply until we were within twenty yards of her. Then 
we did reply with a vengeance, pouring in our tremendous broad- 
side. The shrieks and cries which rose showed the fearful execu- 
tion it had committed. 

Still the French commodore continued firing, and we ran on, 
keeping about the same distance as before, exchanging broadsides. 
Meantime the van ship of the enemy tacked, evidently expecting to 
be followed by the rest of the squadron, and thereby drive us upon 
the Brill shoal, which was close to leeward. The van ship soon 
after arrived within hail of us on our weather beam, and received 
our larboard guns, which well-nigh knocked in her sides, while the 
groans and shrieks which arose from her showed that she had 
suffered equally with her commodore. Anxious to escape a second 
dose of the same quality of pills, she passed on to the southward, 
while we cheered lustily at seeing her beaten. We had not much 
time for cheering; we were still engaged with the commodore on our 
lee bow, while the second largest frigate lay upon our lee quarter, 
blazing away at us. Just then our pilot shouted out, “ If we do not 
tack, in five minutes we shall be on the shoal!” 


» _ . V 

weatherhelm. 3^3 

“ Nevtir mind, ” answered the captain; “ when the French commo- 
dore strikes the ground, put the helm a lee.” 

Just as he spoke, the French ship tacked, evidently to avoid the 
shoal, and while she was in stays, we poured in another heavy rak- 
ing fire which well-nigh crippled her. Meantime the other French 
ships had gone about. 

“ Helm’s a-lee!” I heard shouted out, but as our sails and rigging 
were by this time terribly cut about, it seemed as if we should be 
unable to get the ship round. The wind, however, at last filled our 
sails, and round she came. We, as well as the Frenchmen, were 
now all standing on the starboard tack. The three largest frigates 
had fallen to leeward, and could do us but little damage, but the 
three smaller ones kept up a harassing long-shot fire, to which we, 
on account of the distance, could offer but a very slight return. 
All our topmasts being wounded, and the wind freshening, it be- 
came necessary to take a reef in the topsails. In spite of the risk 
we ran, the moment the order was issued we swarmed aloft, though 
we well knew that at any moment the masts might fall, while the 
enemy’s shot came flying among us. 

The frigates and the two corvettes to leeward, seeing us cease fir- 
ing, stood up, hoping to find us disabled; but springing below, we 
were soon again at our guns, and gave them such a dose, knocking 
away several of their yards, that they soon stood off again to join 
the other ships, which had already had enough of it. I forgot to say 
that latterly we had had the brig and the cutter close under our 
stern, and as we had no guns with which to reply to the smart fire 
they opened, we could only fire at them with musketry. After a 
few volleys, however, they beat a retreat, and as night closed down 
upon us, all firing ceased on both sides. The Frenchmen had fired 
high, and our sails and rigging were too much cut up to enable us 
to follow them. Strange as it may appear, scarcely a dozen shot 
had struck the hull, and in consequence, notwithstanding the tre- 
mendous fire to which we had been exposed, we had not had a single 
man killed, and two only, the captain and corporal of marines, 
wounded. The former, however, poor man, died of his wounds 
shortly afterward. During the night every effort was made to get 
the ship into a condition to renew the action. At daybreak we saw 
the French squadron draw up in a close head and stern line. By 
eight o’clock, having knotted and spliced our rigging, bent new 
sails, and otherwise refitted the ship, we stood down to offer battle 
to the enemy, but they had swallowed enough of our sixty-eiglit 
pounders, and about noon they bore away for Flushing. We fol- 


WILL WEATHEEBri^J^ 


324 

lowed until there was no hope of coming up with them, when our 
ship’s head was turned northward, and we steered for Yarmouth 
Roads, to get the severe damages we had received more effectually 
repaired than we could at sea. 

I afterward heard that the large French frigate we had engaged 
was the “Brutus,” which had been a seventy-four cut down, and 
now mounted from forty-six to fifty guns. We saw men and stages 
over the sides of the French ships stopping shot-holes, and we heard 
that one of them had sunk in harbor. 

I was in hopes that we should go back to Sheerness to refit, and 
that I might thus have an opportunity of getting home. I had done 
my duty during the action, so had every one else. The wind fresh- 
ening during the night, the hands were ordered up aloft to shorten 
sail. 

“ Be smart, my lads,” I heard the officer of the watch sing out, 

‘ ‘ or we may have the masts over the sides. ’ ’ 

I was on the maintop-sail yard-arm to leeward, when, just as I 
was about to take hold of the earring, the ship gave a lurch, the 
foot rope, which must have been damaged, gave way, and before I 
could se3ure myself, I was jerked off into the sea. It was- better 
than falling on deck, where I should have been killed, to a cer- 
tainty. I sung out, but no one heard me, and to my horror, I saw 
the ship surging on through the darkness, and I was soon left far 
astern. I shouted again and again, but the flapping of the sails, the 
rattling of the blocks, and the howling of the wind drowned my 
voice. 

At the same time the maintop-gallant-mast with its sail and yard 
was carried away. I saw what had happened, and I feared that two 
poor fellows who had been handling tne sail must have been killed. 
Their fate made me for the moment forget my own perilous condi- 
tion. When I saw that I had no hope of regaining the ship, I threw 
myself on my back to recover my breath, and then looked about, as 
I rose to the top of a sea, to ascertain if there was anything floating 
near at hand on which I might secure myself. Though I could see 
nothing, I did not give way to despair, but resolved to struggle to 
the last for life. Having rested, I swum on until a dark object ap- 
peared before me. It was a boat, which, though filled with water, 
would, I hoped, support me. I clambered into her, and after rest- 
ing, examined her condition. She was, as far as I could ascertain, 
uninjured. I had my hat on, secured by a lanyard, and immedi- 
ately set to work to bale her out with it. I succeeded better than I 
could have expected, for though the sea occasionally washed into 


a^I'LL WEATHEKHELM. 


325 


her, I managed by degiees to gain upon the water. At length I 
found that her gunwale floated three or four inches above the sur- 
face. This encouraged me to go on, and before daybreak she was 
almost clear. When dawn broke I looked out, but no land was in 
sight, nor was a sail to be seen. I was without food or water, but I 
hoped to be able to endure hunger and thirst for some hours with- 
out suffering materially. 

The day went on, the hot summer's sun beat down upon my 
head, and dried my clothes. Several sail passed in the distance, but 
none came near me. There was nothing in the boat with which I 
could form even a paddle. I looked round again and again, think- 
ing it possible that I might find some spar which might serve cut in 
two as a mast and yard. I would then, I thought, try to steer the 
boat to land, with the help of one of the thwarts, which I would 
wrench out to make a rudder, using my clothes tacked together as 
a sail. 

Such ideas served to amuse my mind, but no spar could I see. 
Another night came on, and, overcome by hunger, thirst, and weari- 
ness, I lay down in the bottom of the boat to sleep. At length I 
awoke. Some time must have passed since I lay down. I felt so 
low, that I scarcely expected to live through another day should I 
not be picked up. I looked about anxiously to ascertain if any sail 
was near; none w T as visible, and I once more sunk back in a state of 
stupor. I knew nothing more until I found myself in the fore-peak 
of a small vessel, a man sitting by the side of the bunk in which I 
lay feeding me with broth. In a few hours I had recovered suffi- 
ciently to speak. I asked the seaman who had been attending me, 
what vessel I was on board. 

‘ ‘ The ‘ Fidelity, ’ collier, bound round from Newcastle to Plym- 
outh,” he answered. “We picked you up at daybreak. The 
captain and mate thought you were gone, but I saw there was life 
in you, and got you placed in my bunk. You'll do well now, I 
hope.” 

I replied that I already felt much better, thanks to his kind care, 
and asked his name. 

“ Ned Bath,” he auswered. “ I’ve only done to you what I’d 
have expected another to do for me, so don’t talk about it.” 

He then inquired my name. I told him, giving him an outline of 
my history, how I had been carried off from my wife, and how 
cruelly I had been disappointed in my efforts to get back to her. 

“ You slia’n’t be this time if I can help it, Will,” he said; “ and 
as soon as we get into Plymouth, I’ll help you to start off for Ports- 


WILL WEATHERHEEbSS 


326 

mouth. I’ve got some wages due, and you shall have what money 
.you want, and pay me back when you can.” 

1 thanked him heartily, feeling sure that Uncle Kelson would at 
once send him the money, and accepted his generous offer. I could 
not help hoping that we might meet with a foul wind and be com- 
pelled to put into some nearer port; but the wind held fair, and we 
at length sighted the Eddystone, when, however, it fell calm. Not 
far off lay a frigate which had come out of the Sound. Several 
other vessels were also becalmed near us. 1 was looking at the 
frigate, when a boat put off from her and pulled toward one of the 
other vessels. She then steered for another and another, remaining 
a sliDrt time only alongside each. 

“ She’s after no good,” observed Ned; “ I shouldn’t be surprised 
if she was picking up hands. We’ve all protections aboard here. 
You’d better stow yourself away, Will. Jump into my berth and 
pretend to be sick, it’s your only safe plan.” 

This I did not like to do, and I guessed if Ned was right in his 
conjectures, that the officer who visited us would soon ascertain 
there was one more hand on board than the brig’s complement. 
Unhappily he was right — the boat came alongside. It was the old 
story over again. Just as I had expected to obtain my freedom, I 
was seized, having only time to give Ned the address of my wife, to 
whom he promised to write, and to wish him and my other ship- 
mates good-bye, when I was ordered to get into the boat waiting 
alongside. She, having picked up three or four more men from 
the other vessels becalmed, returned to the frigate, which was, I 
found, the f ‘ Cleopatra,” of thirty-two twelve-pounder guns, com- 
manded by Captain Sir Robert Laurie, Bart., and bound out to the 
West Indies. 

I very nearly gave way altogether. In vain, however, I pleaded 
to be allowed to go on shore. I acknowledged that I belonged to 
the '* Glatton,” and promised faithfully to return to her as soon as I 
had visited my wife. My petition was disregarded, my statement 
being probably not even believed. A breeze springing up, all sail 
was made, and the “ Cleopatra ” stood down Channel. 

I must pass over several weeks. They were the most miserable 
of my existence. Three times I had been pressed, when on the 
very point, as I supposed, of getting free. I began at last to fancy 
that I never should return on shore. Though my spirits were low, 
I retained my health, but I did my duty in a mechanical fashion. 
My shipmates declared that for months together they never saw 
me smile. 


WEATHERHELM. 


327 


At length, after we had visited the West Indies, we were cruising 
in ‘search of an enemy, when soon after daybreak we sighted a ship 
standing to the eastward, we having the wind about north-west. 
Instantly we made all sail in chase. Every one was sure that she 
was an enemy, and from her appearance we had no doubt that she 
was a big ship. She, observing that she was pursued, stood away 
from us before the wind. All day we continued the chase. Every- 
thing was done to increase our speed. We began to be afraid that 
the enemy would escape us. The sun went down, but there was a 
bright moon, and numbers of sharp eyes were constantly on the 
watch for her. We marked well the course she was steering 
Anxiously the night passed away. When daylight returned, the 
watch on deck gave way to a shout of satisfaction, as in the cold 
gray light of dawn she was seen right ahead rising out of the leaden 
waters. One thing was clear, we were overhauling her surely, 
though slowly. We went to breakfast, the meal was quickly dis 
patched, and we were all soon on deck again to look out for the 
stranger. In a short time there was no doubt about her character 
The order was given to clear the ship for action. As I heard the 
words, I felt more cheerful than I had done since I came on board 
Strange as it may seem, my spirits rose still higher when the stranger 
was made out to be a forty-gun frigate. By half past eleven he 
shortened sail, and hauled his wind to allow us to come up with 
him, and hoisting his "colors at the same time, we now knew him lo 
be a Frenchman. Probably he had run away at first thinking that 
we were the biggest ship, whereas in reality, as we afterward discov- 
ered, he was vastly our superior, not only in the number of his guns 
but in weight of metal, for they were eighteen-pounders, and while 
we had only 200 men fit to work our guns, he had 350. The “ Cleo- 
patra ” measured only 690 tons, while the enemy’s ship, which was 
the “ Ville de Milan, ” measured 1100, and carried forty-six guns. 
We also shortened sail ready for action, and directly afterward be- 
gan to fire our bow-chasers, which the enemy returned with his 
after-guns. Thus a running fight was carried on for some time, we 
in no way daunted by the vastly superior force with which we were 
engaged. 

At about half past two we were within a hundred yards of the 
“ Ville de Milan,” when she luffed across our bows and poured in 
a crashing broadside, while we, passing under her stern, returned 
her fire with good interest. We now ranged up within musket- 
shot, on the starboard side of our big anl agonist, and thus we kept 
running parallel to each other, sometimes on a wind and sometimes 


328 


WILL WEATHERHEKcss,'/ 

nearly before it — we trying to prevent her from luffing again across 
our bows or under our stern, and she not allowing us to perform 
the same maneuver. Never in a single combat was there a fiercer 
fight. We worked our guns with desperate energy — not that we 
ever doubted that we should be the victors, but we knew that we 
must fight hard to win the victory. 

For upward of a couple of hours we had been hotly engaged, 
when a loud cheer broke from us. We had shot away the enemy’s 
maintop-sail-yard. We, however, had suffered greatly, not only 
in spars, but our running rigging had been literally cut to pieces. 
A number of our men, also, lay killed and wounded about our decks; 
and though the latter. were carried below as fast as possible, their 
places were rapidly supplied by others doomed to suffer the same 
fate. 

The loss of the enemy’s maintop-sail-yard caused us to forge 
ahead, but unhappily, from the condition of our running rigging, we 
could neither shorten sail nor back our maintop-sail. Our captain 
therefore resolved to endeavor to cross the bows of the “ Ville de 
Milan.” 

The order was given to put the helm down. At that moment a 
shot struck the wheel, knocking it to pieces and killing one of the 
men standing at it. There we lay, with the ship utterly unmanage- 
able and at the mercy of our opponent. It was enough to make us 
weep with sorrow, but instead of that we set to work to try and get 
tackles on to the tiller to steer by. 

“Lookout, my lads! stand by to repel boarders!” sung out our 
captain. 

At that moment the enemy bore up and ran us on board, her bow- 
sprit and figure-head passing over our quarter deck, abaft the main 
rigging. I was on the quarter-deck. As. I saw the bows of our 
huge enemy grinding against our sides, our ship rolling terrifically, 
while the other was pitching right at us as it were, I felt that never 
were British courage and resolution more required than at that mo- 
ment. It was put to the test. 

“ Repel boarders!” was the shout. On came the Frenchmen, 
streaming in crowds over their forecastle. We met them, cutlass 
and pistol in hand, and with loud shouts drove them back to their 
own ship. They must not have been sorry to get there, for every 
instant it appeared that our gallant frigate would go down under 
the repeated blows given us by our opponent. I do not believe, 
though, that such an idea occurred to many of us. We only thought 
of driving back the enemy, of striving to gain the victory. All this 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


329 


time our great guns were blazing away, and the marines were keep- 
ing up a hot fire of musketry, while the enemy were pounding us 
as sharply in return. 

Not a minute of rest did they afford us. Led on by their officers, 
with shouts and shrieks they rushed over their bows and down by 
the bowsprit on to our deck. Every inch of plank was fiercely con- 
tested, and literally our scuppers ran streams of blood. 

Try and picture for a moment the two ships rolling, tumbling, and 
grinding against each other, the wind whistling in our rigging (for 
it was blowing heavily), the severed ropes and canvas lashing about 
in every direction; the smoke and flames from our guns, their 
muzzles almost touching, the cries, and groans, and shouts; spars 
and blocks tumbling from aloft; the decks slippery with gore; the 
roar of big guns, the rattle of musketry, the flash of pistols, the 
clash of cutlasses as we met together; and some faint idea may be 
formed of the encounter in which we were engaged. 

Once more the enemy were driven back, leaving many dead; but 
we also suffered fearfully Still we persevered. For an instant I 
had time to look round. I saw the shattered condition of our ship, 
my brave companions dropping rapidly around me, several of our 
lieutenants severely wounded, and for the first time the dread came 
over me that we must strike our flag or sink at our quarters, for I 
felt convinced that the ship could not stand much longer the sort of 
treatment she had been undergoing. 

Again the shout was raised, “ Repel boarders!” “ Steady, my 
brave lads, meet them!” cried our gallant captain. We saw the 
Frenchmen hurrying along the waist, leaping up on the forecastle, 
and then in dense masses they rushed down on our decks. We met 
^iem as bravely as men can meet their foes, but already we had 
nearly sixty men (more than a quarter of our crew) either killed or 
wounded, and, terribly overmatched, we were borne back by mere 
force of numbers. 

The way cleared, the Frenchmen continued pouring in on us till 
our people were literally forced down the hatchways or against the 
opposite bulwarks, while our cutlasses were knocked out of our 
hands, no longer able to grasp them. The bravest on board must 
have felt there was no help for it, and no one was braver than our 
captain. The British colors were hauled down. 

When I saw what had happened, I felt as if a shot had gone 
through me — grief and shame made my heart sink within my bosom. 
The Frenchmen cheered: we threw down our weapons, and went 
below. We were called up, however, to assist in getting ihe ships 


330 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


free of each other. This was a work of no little difficulty. Some 
of our people were removed aboard the “ Ville de Milan,” and she 
sent about forty men, including officers, to take possession of the 
“ Cleopatra.” 

Some of the Frenchmen told us that their captain had been killed 
by one of the last shots we fired. He had four lieutenants, the 
master, and the lieutenant of marines wounded, as well as the boat- 
swain and a midshipman, though not an officer was killed. Of the 
seamen and marines, we had twenty-two killed and thirty wounded. 
Another proof that we did not give in while a chance of victory 
remained was, that scarcely were we free of the Frenchman than 
our main and fore masts went over our side, and very shortly after- 
ward the bowsprit followed, and our gallant frigate was left a mis- 
erable wreck on the waters. 

The French lost a good many men, and their ship was so knocked 
about that her main and mizzen masts both went over the side 
during the night, and when day broke, to all appearance she was 
not much better off than the “ Cleopatra.” 

We at once were summoned to assist the prize crew in getting up 
jury-masts, and the weather moderating, we were able to do this 
without difficulty. Both frigates then shaped a course for France. 
Even now I scarcely like to speak of what my feelings were when 
once more all my hopes were cruelly dashed to the ground, and I 
found myself carried away to become the inmate of a French prison. 

I sat most of the day with my head bent down on my knees, 
brooding over my grief. I certainly felt ripe for any desperate ad- 
venture; but nothing else would, I think, have aroused me. The 
Frenchmen did not like our looks, I conclude, for they kept a str~t 
watch over us lest we should attempt to play them a trick, ai.~,. 
would only allow a few of us on deck at a time. This was very 
wise in them, for had they given us the chance we should certainly 
not have lei it slip. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A friend in need— The Frenchmen catch a Tartar— The tables turned— Return 
to Old England— Off again to sea— England expects that every man will do 
his duty— Battle of Trafalgar— Wreck of our prize— My enemy found— Home 
— Conclusion. 

I ought to have said that the larger portion of the ship’s com- 
pany and all the officers had been removed at once on board the 
“ Yille de Milan.” I. with about sixty or seventy others, remained 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


331 


on board the * ‘ Cleopatra. ’ ’ I would rather have been out of the 
ship, I own. I could not bear to see her handled by the French- 
men. Often and often I felt inclined to jump up and knock some 
of them down, just for the sake of giving vent to my feelings. Of 
course I did not do so, nor did I even intend to do so. It would 
have been utterly useless, and foolish in the extreme. I only de- 
scribe my feelings, and I dare say they were shared by many of my 
shipmates. 

Nearly a week thus passed, when one morning, as I was on deck, 
I saw a large ship standing toward us. What she was I could not 
at first say. The Frenchmen, at all events, did not like her looks, 
for I observed a great commotion among them. The two frigates 
had already as much sail set on their jury masts as it was in any 
way safe to carry, so nothing more could be done to effect their es- 
cape should it be necessary to run for it, by the sail in sight being, 
what I hoped she was, a British man-of-war. 

How eagerly I walched to see what would be done! The French 
officers kept looking out with their glasses, and constantly going 
aloft. Soon the two frigates put up their helms and ran off before 
the wind, and almost at the same instanl I had the satisfaction of 
seeing the stranger make all sail in chase. 

One, at all events, was certain of being captured, for, knocked 
about as they had been, they made very little way. Anxiously I 
watched to ascertain to a certainty the character of the stranger. The 
Frenchmen, I doubted not, took her to be an English man-of-war, 
and I prayed that they might be right, but still I knew that their 
fears might cause them to be mistaken. 

Most of the English prisoners were sent below, but I managed to 
stow myself away forward, and so was able to see what took place. 
On came the stranger. Gradually the foot of her top- sails, and 
1 hen her courses rose out of the water, and when at length her hull 
appeared I made out that she was not less than a fifty-gun ship, and 
I had little doubt that she was English. The Frenchman looked at 
her as if they would like to see her blow up, or go suddenly to the 
bottom. I watched her in the hope of soon seeing the glorious flag 
of Old England fly out at her peak. I was not long kept in doubt. 

As soon as the ship got near enough to make out the French 
ensign flying on board the “ Cleopatra ” and “ Ville de Milan,” up 
went the British ensign. Forgetting for the moment by whom T 
was surrounded, I could scarcely avoid cheering aloud as I watched 
it fluttering in the breeze. The Frenchmen, in their rage and dis- 
appointment, swore and stamped, and tore their hair, and com- 


332 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


mitted all sorts of senseless extravagances, and I felt that it would 
be wise to keep out of their sight as much as possible, as some of 
them might, perchance, bestow on me a broken head, or worse, for 
my pains. 

The two frigates closed for mutual support, but when I came to 
consider the condition they were in, I had little doubt that the En- 
glish ship would be more than a match for them. The stranger had 
first been seen soon after daybreak. The people had now just had 
their breakfasts. They were not long below, for all were anxious 
to watch Ihe progress of their enemy. The weatner had been all 
the morning very doubtful, and thick clouds were gathering in the 
sky. My earnest prayer was that it would continue moderate: I be- 
gan, however, to fear that my hopes would be disappointed. The 
clouds grew thicker and seemed to descend lower and lower, while 
a mist arose which every instant grew denser. 

At length, when I had for a short time turned my head away 
from our big pursuer, I again looked out. What was my horror 
and disappointment not to be able to see the English ship in any 
direction! I looked around and tried to pierce the thick mist which 
had come on, but in vain; and again my heart sunk within me. 
The Frenchmen also searched for their enemy; but when they could 
not find her, they, on the contrary, began to sing and snap their 
fingers and to exhibit every sign of satisfaction at the prospect of 
escaping her. 

One or two of my shipmates had slipped up on deck, and they 
returned with the sad tidings below. After a little time I joined 
them. I found them all deep in a consultation together. It was 
proposed that we should rise upon the French prize crew, and, tak- 
ing the frigate from them, go in search of the English ship. Some 
were for the plan, some were against it. It was argued that the 
“ Ville de Milan ” would, at every risk, attempt to stop us — that, 
short-handed as we were, we could not hope to hold out against her 
— that we might very probably miss the English ship, and then, if 
we fell in with another Frenchman, we should very likely be treated 
as pirates. 

I rather agreed with these last-mentioned opinions; still, as I have 
said, I felt ready to undertake any enterprise, however desperate. 
Hour after hour passed away. The Frenchmen kept walking the 
deck and rubbing their hands, as the prospect of escape increased. 

Suddenly we heard them slop. I slipped up again on deck; a 
breeze had carried away the mist, and there, right away to wind- 
ward, was the English ship, much nearer than when she had last 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


333 


been seen. I did cheer now, I could not help it. The Frenchmen 
were too much crestfallen to resent by a blow what they must have 
looked upon as an insult, but an officer coming up, ordered me in- 
stantly to go below. 

I was obliged to comply, though I longed to remain on deck to 
see what course events would take. The people below, as soon as 
they heard that a friend was in sight, cheered over and over again, 
utterly indifferent to what the Frenchmen might say or do. They 
did utter not a few sacres and other strange oaths, but we did not 
care for them. 

The two frigates were, as I said, at the time I went below, close 
together, with the French ensigns hoisted on the main stays. The 
British ship was coming up hand over hand after them. We tried 
to make out what was going forward by the sounds we heard and 
the orders given. Our ship was before the wind. Presently a shot 
was fired to leeward from each frigate, and a lad who had crept up, 
and looked through one of the ports, reported that the “ Ville de 
Milan ” had hauled her wind on the larboard tack, and that we 
were still running before it. We all waited listening eagerly for 
some time, and at last a gun was. fired, and a shot struck the side of 
our ship. Then we knew full well that our deliverance was not 
far off. The Frenchmen sacre'd and shouted at each other louder 
than ever. Our boatswain had been let on board with us. He was 
a daring, dashing fellow. 

“ How, my lads, is the time to take the ship from the hands of 
the Frenchmen!” he exclaimed. “If we delay, night is coming 
on, and the other frigate may get away. If we win back our own 
ship it will allow our friend to go at once in chase of the enemy.” 

The words were scarcely out of his moulh when we all, seizing 
handspikes and boat-stretchers,, acd indeed anything we could con- 
vert into weapons, knocked over the sentry at the main hatchway, 
and springing on deck, rushed fore and aft, and while the French- 
men stood at their guns, looking through the pons at their enemy 
and our friend, we overpowered them. Scarcely one of them made 
any resistance. In an instant we were on the upper deck, where 
the officers, seeing that the game was up, cried out that they gave 
in, and hauled down the French flag. 

On this, didn’t we cheer lustily! The ship which had so opportune- 
ly come to our rescue was the fifty- gun ship “Leander,” the 
Honorable John Talbot. Her crew cheered as she came up to us, 
and her captain asked us if we could hold our own against the 
Frenchmen without assistance. We replied that we could, and 


334 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


against twice as many Frenchmen to boot. We thought then that 
we could do anything. He told us we were fine fellows, and order- 
ing us to follow him, he hauled his wind in chase of the “ Ville de 
Milan.” 

We took care to disarm all the Frenchmen; and, you may believe 
me, we kept a very sharp lookout on them, lest they should attempt 
to play us the same trick we had just played them. 

The “ Ville de Milan ” had by this time got some miles away, but 
the “ Leander ” made all sail she could carry, and we had little 
doubt would soon come up with her. Still we could not help keep- 
ing one eye on the two ships, and the other on our prisoners. In 
little more than an hour after the French flag had been hauled down 
aboard the “ Cleopatra,” as we hoped, never to fly there again, the 
“Leander,” with her guns ready to pour forth her broadside, 
ranged up alongside the “ Ville de Milan.” The Frenchmen were 
no cowards, as we had found to be the case, but they naturally 
didn’t like her looks; and not waiting for her to fire, wisely hauled 
down their colors. Then once more we cheered, and cheered again, 
till our voices were hoarse. People have only to consider what the 
anticipation of a prison must be to British sailors, to remember that 
we fancied that we had lost our gallant ship, and that we were 
smarting under a sense of defeat, to understand our joy at finding 
ourselves once more at liberty. I had a joy far greater than any 
one, or at least than any one not situated as I was (and perhaps 
there were some as anxious as I was to return home), of feeling that 
I had now a far greater chance than had before occurred of once 
more setting foot on the shores of Old England, and of returning to 
my beloved wife. 

The three ships all hove to close together, while arrangements 
were made for our passage to England. The “Leander” put a 
prize crew on board the “ Ville de Milan, ” strengthened by some of 
our people, and our gallant captain, Sir Robert Laurie, and his 
officers once more took possession of their own ship. It was a happy 
meeting on board the “ Cleopatra,” you may depend on that; and 
on the first Saturday afterward, as may be supposed, there was not 
a mess in which “ Sweethearts and wives ” was not drunk with 
right hearty goodwill. Some, and I trust that I was among them, 
felt that we owed our deliverance to a power greater than that of 
men, and thanked with grateful hearts Him who had in His mercy 
delivered us from the hand of our enemies. And oh! my fellow- 
countrymen, who read this brief account of my early days, I, now 
an old man, would urge you, when our beloved country is, as soon 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


335 


she may be, beset with foes, burning with hatred and longing for 
her destruction, that while you bestir yourselves like men and seize 
your arms for the desperate conflict, you ever turn to the God of 
battles, the God of your fathers, the God of Israel of old, and with 
contrite hearts for our many national sins beseech Him to protect 
us from wrong, to protect our native land, our pure Protestant 
faith, our altars, our homes, the beloved ones dwelling there, from 
injury. Pray to Him — rely on Him — and then surely we need not 
fear what our enemies may seek to do to us. 

Once more, then, we were on our way to England. I did believe 
that this time I should reach it. I could not fancy that another 
disappointment was in store for me. The weather, notwithstanding 
the stormy time of the year, proved moderate, and we made good 
way on our homeward voyage. While the boats were going back- 
ward and forward between the ships I had observed in one of them 
a man whose countenance bore, I thought, a remarkable resemblance 
to that of Charles Iffley. Still I could not fancy it was Iffley him- 
self. I asked some of the “ Leander’s ” people whether they had a 
man of ihat name on board, but they said that they certainly had 
not, and so I concluded that I must have been mistaken. The man 
saw me, bul he made no sign of recognition, but neither, I felt, 
would Iffley have done so had he been certain of my identity. Still 
the countenance I had seen haunted me continually, and I could 
not help fancying that he was still destined again to work me some 
evil. 

“ Land! land ahead!” was sung out one morning, just as break- 
fast was over. The mess- tables were cleared in a moment, and 
every one not on duty below was on deck in a moment looking out 
for shores we all so longed to see. It was the coast of Cornwall, 
not far from the Land’s End. Point after point was recognized and 
welcomed, as, with a fair breeze, we ran up Channel. Then the 
Eddystone was made, and the wind siill favoring us, we at length 
dropped our anchor close together in Plymouth Sound. I could 
scarcely believe my senses when I found myself once more in Brit- 
ish waters. Oh! how I longed to be able to go on shore and to set 
off at once for Portsmouth; but, in spite of all my entreaties, I could 
not obtain leave to go. The captain was very kind, and so was the 
first lieutenant, but they were anxious to get the ship refitted at 
once, to be able to get to sea to wipe out the discredit, as they felt 
it, of having been captured even by so superior a force. All I 
could do, therefore, was to sit down and write a letter to my wife 
to tell her of my arrival, and to beg her to send me instantly word 


336 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


of her welfare. I entreated her, on no consideration, to come to 
meet me; I did not know what accident might occur to her if she 
attempted to come by land or by sea. Traveling in those days was 
a very different matter to what it is at present. Even should no 
accident happen to her, I knew that before she would reach Plym- 
outh I might be ordered off to sea. I felt bitterly that I was not 
my own master. I did not blame anybody. Who was there to 
blame? I could only And fault with the system, and complain that 
such a system was allowed to exist. Fortunate are those who live 
in happier days, when no man can be pressed against his will, or be 
compelled to serve for a longer time than he has engaged to do. 

The three ships as we lay in the Sound were constantly visited by 
people fiom the shore, and the action between the “ Cleopatra ” 
and the “ Ville de Milan ” was considered a very gallant affair, and 
instead of getting blamed, the captain, officers, and crew were 
highly praised for their conduct. Our captain, Sir Robert Laurie, 
was presented with a sword of the value of a hundred guineas by 
the Patriotic Fund, as a compliment to his distinguished bravery, 
and the skill and perseverance which he exhibited in chasing and 
bringing the enemy to action. Indeed, we obtained more credit for 
our action, though we lost our ship, than frequently has been gained 
by those who have won a victory. The “ Ville de Milan” was 
added to the British Navy under the name of the “ Milan,” and 
classed as an eighteen-pounder thirty-eight-gun frigate, and Sir 
Robert Laurie was appointed to command her. Our first lieuten- 
ant, Mr. William Balfour, was also rewarded by being made a com- 
mander. 

Day after day passed away, and I did not hear from my wife. 
Dreadful thoughts oppressed me. I began to fear that she was 
dead, or that, not hearing from me, or perhaps believing me lost, 
she had removed from Southsea. Indeed, I can not describe all the 
sad thoughts which came into my head, and weighed down my 
heart. Then the tempter was always suggesting to me, “ Why not 
run and leam all about the matter? What harm is there in desert- 
ing? Many a man has done it before. Who will think the worse 
of you if you do?” But I resisted the temptation, powerful as it 
was. I had undertaken to serve my country, and t^ obey those 
placed in authority over me; and I knew that their reasons were 
good for not allowing me to go on shore. Still I own it was very, 
very hard to bear. I had yet a sorer trial in store for me. 

Things were done in those days which would not be thought of at 
the present time. Men were wanted to work the ships which were 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


337 


to fight England’s battles, and men were to be got by every means, 
fair or foul. Often, indeed, very foul means were used. While 
we were expecting to be paid off down came an order to draft us 
off into other ships. In spite of the bloody battles we had fought, 
in spite of all we had gone through, our prayers were not heard — 
we were not even allowed to go on shore; and, without a moment’s 
warning, I found myself on board the “ Sparlite,” 74, commanded 
by Sir Francis Laforey, and ordered off at once to sea. I had bare- 
ly time to send a letter on shore to tell my wife what had occurred, 
and no time to receive one from her. Well, I did think that my 
heart would break this time; but it did not. I was miserable be- 
yond conception, but still I was buoyed up with the feeling that I 
had done my duty, and that my miseries, great as they were, would 
come some day to an end. 

We formed one of a large squadron of men-of-war, under Lord 
Collingwood, engaged in looking out for the French and Spanish 
fleets. We continually kept the sea cruising off the coast of Spain 
and Portugal, and occasionally running out into the Atlantic, or 
sweeping round the Bay of Biscay. From August to September of 
this memorable year, 1805, we were stationed off Cadiz to watch 
the enemy’s fleet which had taken shelter there, and in October we 
were joined by Lord Nelson in his favorite ship the “ Victory.” We 
all knew pretty well that something would be done, but we little 
guessed how great was the work in which we were ab^ul to engage. 
The French and Spanish fleets were inside Cadiz harbor, and we 
wanted to get them out to fight them. This was a difficult matter, 
for they did not like our looks. That is not surprising, particularly 
when they knew who we had got to command us. Lord Nelson, 
however, was not to be defeated in his object. Placing a small 
squadron in shore, he stationed other ships at convenient distances 
for signaling, while the main body of the fleet withdrew to a dis- 
tance of eighteen leagues or so from the land. 

The enemy were deceived, and at length, on the 19th and 20th 
their -whole fleet had got out of the harbor. No sooner was Lord 
Nelson informed of this than he stood in with his entire fleet toward 
them. 

At daybreak on the memorable 21st October 1805, the combined 
French and Spanish fleets were in sight, about twelve miles off, the 
center of the enemy’s fleet bearing about east by south of ours. At 
6 a.m. we could from the deck see the enemy’s fleet, and, as I after- 
ward learned, the “ Victory ” was at that time about seven leagues 


338 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


distant from Cape Trafalgar. At about 10 a. m. the French Admiral 
Villeneuve had managed to form his fleet in close order of battle; 
but owing to the lightness of the wind, some of the ships were to 
windward and some to leeward of their proper stations — the whole 
being somewhat in the form of a crescent. We had at an. early hour 
formed into two columns, and bore up toward the enemy. The 
“ Victory ” led the weather division, in which was our ship. We 
had studden-sails alow and aloft; but the wind was so light that we 
went through the water scarcely more than two knots an hour. I 
am not about to give an account of the battle of Trafalgar, for that 
is the celebrated action we were then going to fight. It has been 
too often well described for me to have any excuse for making the 
attempt. Indeed, when once it began, even the officers knew very 
little about the matter, and the men engaged in working the guns 
knew nothing beyond what they and their actual opponents were 
about. All I know is, that Lord Nelson was afraid the enemy would 
try and get back into Cadiz, and in order to prevent him, he resolved 
to pass through the van of* his line. 

At 11.40 a.m. Lord Nelson ordered that ever memorable signal to 
be made — “ England expects that every man will do his 
duty.” Nobly, I believe, one and all did their duty; and, oh! may 
Englishmen never forget that signal in whatever work they may be 
engaged. It was received with loud cheers throughout the fleet 
both by officers and men. The “ Royal Sovereign,” Lord Colling- 
wood’s ship, led the lee division, and at ten minutes past noon com- 
menced the action, by passing close under the stern of the “ Santa 
Anna,” discharging her larboard broadside into her, and her star- 
board one at the same time into the “ Fougueux. ” These two ships 
fired at her in return, as did the “ San Leandro ” ahead, and the 
“ San Justo ” and “ Indomitable,” until other ships came up and 
engaged them. The action was now general. All that could be 
seen were wreaths of smoke, masts and spars falling, shattered sails, 
shot whizzing by, flames bursting out with a tremendous roar of 
guns, and a constant rattle of musketry; ships closing and firing 
away at each other, till it appeared impossible that they could re- 
main afloat. 

In the afternoon I know that we and the “ Minolaur ” bore down 
on four heavy ships of the combined squadron, which we hotly en- 
gaged, and succeeded in cutting off the Spanish “ Neptuno.” She 
was bravely defended; but in two hours we compelled her to strike 
her flag, with the loss of her mizzen-mast and fore- and main-top 
mast. No seamen could have fought more bravely than did the 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


339 


Spaniards on this occasion; but their bravery did not avail them. 
As the spars of the enemy’s ship went tumbling down on deck, and 
his fire slackened, we one and all burst into loud cheers, which con- 
tributed not a little to damp his courage. I forgot my own indi- 
viduality, my own sorrows and sufferings, in the joy of the crew at 
large. I felt that a great and glorious victory was almost won — the 
most important that English valor, with (rod’s blessing, had ever 
achieved on the ocean. I felt certain that the victory would be 
gained by us. My spirits rose. I cheered and cheered away as 
loudly as the rest. Many of our people had been struck down and 
carried below, though comparatively few had been killed outright. 
I saw my messmates wounded; but it never for a moment occurred 
to me that I should be called on to share their fate. Suddenly, as I 
was hauling away at my gun, I felt a stunning terrific blow. I 
tottered and fell. I was in no great pain, only horribly sick. The 
blood left my cheeks. It seemed to be leaving me altogether. 
“Carry him below,’’ I heard some one say. “ He’s not dead, is 
lie?’’ Then I knew that I was badly wounded; I did not know how 
badly. I was almost senseless as I was conveyed below, where I 
found myself with a number of my shipmates, who had lately been 
full of life and activity, strong, hearty men, now lying pale and 
maimed or writhing in agony. One of the surgeons soon came to 
me and gave me restoratives, and I then knew where I was, and that 
my left arm was shattered, and my side wounded. I thought at 
that time that I had suffered a very great misfortune; but I had 
reason afterward to believe that I ought to have been thankful for 
what had occurred. I said that we were engaged with the Spanish 
ship the “ Neptuno.” In spite of the hammering we gave her, her 
people continued io serve her guns with undaunted courage. At 
length, when we had knocked away her mizzen-mast and main- and 
foretop-masls, and killed and wounded a number of her people, and 
sent many a shot through her hull, her crew, seeing that numbers 
of the combined fleet had already succumbed to British valor, 
hauled down their colors. I heard the cheering shout given by my 
shipmates, and discovered the cessation of the firing from no longer 
experiencing the dreadful jar which the guns caused each time they 
were discharged. As soon as any of our boats could be got into a 
condition to lower, the prize was taken possession of. I found after- 
ward that my name was called over to form one of the prize crew; 
but when it was known that I was wounded, another hand was sent 
in my place. I had been selected by the first lieutenant, who looked 
on me as a steady man, and wished to recommend me for promo- 


340 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


tion. I give an account of what befell the prize as narrated to me 
by a shipmate. 

“You know, Weatherhelm,” said he, when I met him some 
months afterward, “ that I formed one of the prize crew sent to 
take possession of her. Before we got her sufficiently into order to 
be manageable, we fell on board the ‘ Temeraire,’ one of our own 
squadron. We little thought at that time that our beloved chief 
was lying in the cockpit of the ‘ Victory ’ mortally wounded. He 
had been struck by the fatal bullet at 1 :25, while walking his quar- 
ter-deck, and at 4:30 he expired without a groan. Lord Nelson had 
directed that the fleet with the prizes should anchor as soon as the 
victory was complete; but Lord Collingwood, who now took the 
command, differed on the subject, and ordered the ships to keep 
under way, being of opinion that the less injured ships might the 
better help the crippled ones. Our ship was less injured than most; 
for we only had our maintop-masts wounded. Our prize, however, 
was in a very crippled condition. She had lost her fore- and mizzen- 
masts by the board, and as it was late in the afternoon before we 
took possession of her, after which we had to secure the prisoners 
and send them on board our ship and the “ Minotaur, ” it was nearly 
night before we could begin putting the ship to rights. We had 
then in the dark to work away to set up a jury, fore, and mizzen 
mast. We labored all night, and by the morning had them both 
standing. The morning after that never-to-be-forgotten battle 
broke dark and lowering giving every indication of- a gale. How 
little prepared to encounter it were the greater portion of the ships 
which had been engaged in the desperate struggle! Down came the 
gale upon us from the westward. Every instant it increased, and 
very soon our two jury-masts were carried away, leaving us a help- 
less wreck on the raging waters. The Spanish coast was under our 
lee, and toward it we were rapidly driving. 

“A lee-shore, on any occasion, is not a pleasant object of con- 
templation, but still worse was it for us when we remembered that 
it was inhabited by our enemies, whose ships we had just so soundly 
thrashed. We tried to range one of our cables to bring up, but it 
■was useless to trust to it a moment, it had been so much injured by 
the shot. It soon became evident that if the gale continued, we 
should drive ashore or go down. Anxiously we looked out to wind- 
ward, but in the prospect on that side there was very little to cheer 
us, and still less was there on the other side, where a few miles off 
only the sea broke on the rock-bound, inhospitable shore. Toward 
that shore we were rapidly driving. The gale came down on us 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


341 


stronger and stronger. ‘ There’s no help for it!’ exclaimed our com- 
manding officer with a deep sigh, for he felt, as we all did, that it 
was very hard to win a prize and to have helped to win a great vic- 
tory, and tnen to loce our prize and perhaps our lives. 1 Up with 
the helm — keep her dead before the wind!’ he added, going forward 
with his glass, as did the other officers, looking out for a spot free 
from rocks into which to run the ship. Evening was coming on, 
and he saw that it was better to go on shore in the day-time, when 
we might take advantage of any chance of saving ourselves, instead 
of at night, when our chance would be small indeed. Orders were 
given for every man to prepare as best he could to save himself. On 
we drove toward the shore. We had a large number of prisoners on 
board. As we approached the land they were all released, the dan- 
ger pointed out to them, and they were told to try and save them- 
selves, the officers promising that they would try and help them. 

“ There was little time for preparation. Every moment the gale 
was increasing. The roar of the surf on the shore was terrific, sadly 
warning us of the fate of the ship once cast within its power. Even 
the bravest turned pale, as they saw the danger. The Spaniards, 
bravely as they had fought, tore their hair, shrieked, and called on 
their saints to help them, but did little to make ready for the com- 
ing catastrophe. We, with our axes, tore up the decks, and each 
man provided himself with a spar or bit of timber on which he might 
float when washed overboard, as we expected soon to be. Darkness 
overtook us sooner even than we had calculated. In thick gloom, 
with a driving rain and a howling wind, the ship was hove in among 
the breakers. She struck with terrific violence. The sea broke 
furiously over us. I know little more. I received a blow on my 
head, I suppose. When I came to myself, I was lying on the beach 
and unable to move. Then I saw lights approaching, and I found 
myself lifted up and carried to a cottage, where my head was bound 
up and food was given me. I found the next day that not ten of 
the prize crew had escaped, but that of the Spaniards upward of 
forty had been washed safely on shore. I was treated kindly, but 
afterward carried off to prison. A Spanish prison is one of the last 
places in which a man would like to take up his abode; and, my 
dear Weatherhelm, you may believe me, I am right glad to find 
myself exchanged and once more treading the shores of Old Eng- 
land.” Such was the account my old shipmate gave me; and then 
I felt, as I have said, that I should be thankful for what had hap- 
pened to me. To return to my own adventures. Our ship had a 
long passage home, for in her crippled condition we could carry 


342 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


very little sail. This gave me a longer time to recover before land- 
ing. From my abstemious habits, I did not suffer as much as many 
of my companions in misfortune, several of whom died of their 
wounds from inflammation setting in, caused by their previous in- 
temperate mode of life. 

We at last reached Plymouth, and I was carried to the hospital. 
I longed to write to my wife, and yet my heart sunk within me 
when I thought that I should have to tell her what a maimed and 
altered being I was. I fancied that she would not know me, and 
would look on me with horror. When the surgeon saw me, 
directly I was carried to the hospital, he bid me cheer up, and said 
that he thought I should soon be strong enough to move. Scarcely 
had he left me, when I heard a man groaning heavily in the next 
bed to mine. The groans ceased. I asked the sufferer what was 
the matter with him. I was startled when he answered in a voice 
which I knew at once, “lam dying, and going I know not where, 
with a thousand sins on my head unrepented of and unforgiven. ’ 
It was Iffley who spoke. I was not certain whether he knew me. I 
answered, 4 ‘ There is forgiveness for the greatest of sinners. Re- 
pent. Trust in Christ. His blood will wash away all your sins.” 
There was no reply for some time. I thought that he had ceased to 
breathe. 

“Who are you who says that?” he exclaimed suddenly; “you 
think that I do not know you. I knew you from the first, and I be- 
lieve you know me. Can you forgive one who has injured you so 
severely— who would have injured you still more had he found the 
opportunity? Weatlierhelm, I ask you, can you forgive me?” 

I was silent for some minutes. There was a severe strife in my 
bosom. I prayed earnestly for God’s Holy Spirit. I uttered the 
words, “ Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass 
against us.” I felt that I could reply with sincerity, “ Ilfley, I do 
forgive you — from my heart — truly and freely. ’ * 

“ Then I can believe that God will forgive me,” he cried out with 
almost a shriek ot‘ joy. “Yes, the chaplain here and others have 
talked to me about it. I could not believe them. I felt that I was 
far too guilty, and too wretched an outcast; but I am sure that what 
man can do, God will do. Yes, Weatlierhelm, you have given a 
peace to my heart I never expected to dwell there. Go on, talk to 
me on that subject. Pray with me. I have no time to talk on any 
other subject, to tell you of my past career. That matters not. My 
hours are numbered. Any moment I feel may be my last on earth. 
Go on, go on.” 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


343 


I did talk long and earnestly to him, and wliat I said seemed to 
increase his comfort. Oui conversation was intei rupted by a visitor 
who came round and read and talked to the poor wounded occu- 
pants of the wards. He came to my bed. I looked up in his face, 
and recognized in him my old friend and commander, Captain 
Tooke. He had left the sea, I found, and having a competence, 
thus employed himself in visiting hospitals, especially those which 
contained seamen, and in other works of a laboring Christian. I 
told him what had occurred between me and Iffley. He sat by the 
bedside of my former shipmate, and talked, and read to him, and 
prayed with him. His voice ceased. I saw him bending over 
Iffley. Slowly he turned round to me. “ He is gone, ” he said in a 
low voice. “ He placed his hope on One who is ready and able to 
forgive, and I am sure that he is forgiven.” Captain Tooke prom- 
ised to write to my wife to break to her the news of my wound. I 
got rapidly round — indeed, the doctors s«Jd I might venture to move 
to my home whenever I pleased. Just then business called Captain 
Tooke to Portsmouth, and he invited me to accompany him. We 
found a vessel on the point of sailing there. We had a quick and 
smooth run, and in two days we were put on shore at the Point at 
the entrance of the harbor. A hackney coach was sent for, and we 
drove to Southsea. When I got near the house where I had left my 
uncle and aunt, and where I hoped to find my beloved wife, I felt 
so faint that I begged to be put down, thinking that the fresh air 
would revive me. Captain Tooke thought the same, and so, getting 
out of the carriage, he told me to sit down on a low wall near at 
hand, while he went on to announce my coming. While there, a 
little rosy, fair- haired boy ran laughing by, as if trying to escape 
from some one I sprung forward, and putting out my hand, he 
took it and looked up in my face. I can not describe the tumultu- 
ous feelings which came rushing into my bosom when I saw that 
child. “Who are you, my little fellow? What’s your name?” I 
asked, with a tremulous voice. 

“ Willand— Willand Wetlierholm,” he answered plainly. 

Yes, my feelings had not deceived me. I took him up, he noth- 
ing loath, though he looked inquiringly at my empty sleeve. “ And 
your mother, boy, where is she?” I asked, still more agitated. 

“In there,” he answered, pointing to our old abode. “ She no 
guess I run away.” 

I now went up to the house with the child hanging round my 
neck. I was blessed indeed. There was my own dear wife, still 
pale from her anxiety about me, weeping, l?ut it was with joy at 


344 


WILL WEATHERHELM. 


seeing me; and there were my kind uncle and dear Aunt Bretta, 
just as I had always known her. 

My tale is ended. I never went to sea again, but in a short time 
obtained the same employment in which I was engaged when I was 
pressed. JSTever after that did I for a moment doubt God’s good 
providence and loving-kindness to all those who put their trust in 
Him. He afflicts us for our good. He tries us because He loves 
us. Reader, whatever may occur, trust in God and in His Son, 
whose blood can alone wash away all your sins. Love Him, con- 
fide in Him, and let your great hope, your chief aim, be to dwell 
with Him for eternity. 


THE END. 


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ALPHABETICAL LIST 


202 Abbot, The. Sequel to “ The 
Monastery.” By Sir Walter 


Scott 20 

36 Adam Bede. By George Eliot. 20 
388 Addie’s Husband ; or, Through 
Clouds to Sunshine. By the 
author of “ Love or Lands?”. 10 
5 Admiral's Ward. The. By Mrs. 
Al6Xftndcr • . ••••••••• 20 

127 Adrian Bright. By Mrs. Caddy 20 
500 Adrian Vidal. By W. E. Norris 20 
477 Affinities. By Mrs. Campbell 

Praed 10 

413 Afloat and Ashore. By J. Fen- 

imore Cooper 20 

128 Afternoon, and Other Sketches. 

By “Ouida” 10 

603 Agnes. By Mrs. Oliphant. First 

Half 20 

G03 Agnes. By Mrs. Oliphant. Sec- 
ond Half 20 

218 Agnes Sorel. By G. P. R. James 20 
14 Airy Fairy Lilian. By ‘‘The 

Duchess” 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 
Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 

and Letters 10 

636 Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Black- 

more. 1st half 20 

636 Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Black- 

more. 2d half 20 


650 Alice; or, The Mysteries. (A Se- 
quel to “ Ernest Maltravers.”) 

By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton.... 20 
462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
land. By Lewis Carroll. With 
forty-twoil lustrations by John 

Tenniel 20 

97 All in a Garden Fair. By Wal- 
ter Besant 20 

‘84 Although He Was a Lord, and 
Other Tales. Mrs. Forrester. 10 

(i) 


47 Altiora Peto. By Laurence Oli- 
phant :..., 20 

253 Amazon, The. By Carl Vosmaer 10 
447 American Notes. By Charles 

Dickens 20 

176 An April Day. By Philippa Prit- 

tie Jephson. . ’. 10 

403 An English Squire. By C. R. 

Coleridge 20 

648 Angel of the Bells, The. By F. 


X/U . W 

263 An Ishmaelite* By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

154 Annan Water. By Robert Buch- 
anan 20 

200 An Old Man’s Love. By Anthony 

Trollope 10 

93 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiog- 
raphy 20 

395 Archipelago on Fire, The. By 

Jules Verne 10 

532 Arden Court. Barbara Graham 20 
247 Armourer’s Prentices, The. By" 

Charlotte M. Yonge 10 

224 Arundel Motto, The. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

347 As Avon Flows. By Henry Scott 

Vince 20 

541 “ As it Fell Upon a Day.” By 
“The Duchess,” and Uncle 

Jack. By Walter Besant 10 

560 Asphodel. By Miss Braddon. 20 
540 At a High Price. By E. Werner 20 
352 At Any Cost. By Edw. Garrett 10 
564 At Bay. By Mrs. Alexander. . . 10 
528 At His Gates. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 
192 At the World’s Mercy. By F. 

Warden 20 

287 At War With Herself. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 10 

737 Aunt Rachel. By David Christie 
Murray 10 


THE SEASIDE LlBIiAIiT. — Pocket Edition. 


74 Aurora Floyd. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 

780 Autobiography of. Benjamin 
Franklin, The 


328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 
(Translated from the French 
of Fortune Du Boisgobey.) 

First half 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 
(Translated from the French 
of Fortune Du Boisgobey.) 

Second half 

241 Baby’s Grandmother, The. By 

L. B. Walford 

342 Baby, The, and One New Year’s 
Eve. By “ The Duchess ” . . . . 

611 Babylon. By Cecil Power 

443 Bachelor of the Albany, The. .. 
683 Bachelor Vicar of Newforth, 
The. By Mrs. J. Harcourt-Roe 
65 Back to the Old Home. By 

Mary Cecil Hay 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey 

99 Barbara’s History. By Amelia 

B. Edwards * . . 

234 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 

91 Barnaby Rudge. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 

91 Barnaby Rudge. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 

653 Barren Title, A. T. W. Speight 
731 Bayou Bride, The. By Mrs. 

Mary E. Bryan 

717 Beau Tancrede; or, the Mar- 
riage Verdict. By Alexander 

Dumas ... 

29 Beauty’s Daughters. By “ The 

Duchess ” 

86 Belinda. By Rhoda Broughton 
593 Berna Boyie. By Mrs. J. H. 

Riddell 

581 Betrothed, The. (I Promessi 
Sposi,) Alessandro Man zoui. 
620 Between the Heather and the 
Northern Sea. By M. Linskill 
166 Between Two Loves. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne”... 

476 Between Two Sins. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” ; 

483 Betwixt My Love and Me 

308 Beyond Pardon 

257 Beyond Recall. By Adeline Ser- 
geant 

553 Birds of Prey. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 

320 Bit of Human Nature, A. By 

David Christie Murray 

411 Bitter Atonement, A. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 

430 Bitter Reckoning, A. By the au- 
thor of “ By Crooked Paths ” 


Black Dwarf, The, and A Le- 
gend of Montrose. By Sir 


Walter Scott, 20 

Blatchford Bequest, The. By 
Hugh Conw'ay, author of 

“Called Back” 10 

Bleak House. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 20 

Bleak House. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 20 

Boulderstone ; or, New' Men and 
Old Populations. By William 

Siine 10 

Bravo, The. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

Bride of Lammermoor, The. 

By Sir Walter Scott 20 

Bride of Monte- Cristo, The. A 
Sequel to “ The Count of 
Monte-Cristo.” By Alexan- 
der Dumas 10 

Britta. By George Temple 10 

Broken Wedding-Ring, A. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

By Mead and Stream. By Chas. 

Gibbon 20 

By the Gate of the Sea. By D. 
Chrisvie Murray 10 


Caged Lion, The. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

Called Back. By Hugh Conway 10 
Camiola: A Girl With a Fortune. 

By Justin McCarthy 20 

Canon’s Ward, The. By James 

Payn 20 

Captain’s Daughter, The. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

Cara Roma. By Miss Grant 20 

Cardinal Sin, A. By Hugh Con- 
way, author of “ Called 

Back ” 20 

Carriston’s Gift. By Hugh 
Conway, author* of “ Called 

Back” 10 

Castle Dangerous. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 10 

Cavalry Life; or, Sketches and 
Stories in Barracks and Out. 4 

By J. S. Winter |20 

Chainbearer, The; or, The Lit- 
tlepage Manuscripts. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

Charles O’Malley, the Irish 
Dragoon. By Charles Lever. 

First half 20 

Charles O’Malley, the Irish 
Dragoon. By Charles Lever. 

Second half 20 

Charlotte’s Inheritance. (A Se- 
quel to “ Birds of Prey.”) By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. 

Rowson 10 

Cherry. By the author of “A 

Great Mistake” 10 


353 

20 

10 302 

106 

106 

20 429 

' 394 

20 

362 

10 

259 

10 

20 

10 

642 

20 54 

10 

317 

20 

58 

20 

20 

20 739 

20 240 

10 602 

20 186 

149 

20 

555 

10 711 

20 

20 502 

20 

364 

20 

746 

20 

419 

10 

10 212 

20 

10 212 

20 

554 

10 

• 61 

20 

588 

10 

( 2 > 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRARY. ^-Pocket Edition. 


713 “ Cherry Ripe.” By Helen B. 

Mathers 

719 Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. 

By Lord Byron 

676 Child’s History of England, A. 

By Charles Dickens 

657 Christmas Angel. By B. L. Far- 
jeon 

631 Christowell. By R. D. Blackmore 
507 Chronicles of the Canongate, 

and Other Stories. By Sir 
Walter Scott 

632 Clara Vaughan. By R. D. Black- 

more 

33 Clique of Gold, The. By Emile 

Gaboriau 

499 Cloven Foot, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 

493 Colonel Enderby’s Wife. By 

Lucas Malet 

221 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye. By Heleu 

B. Mathers 

523 Consequences of a Duel, The. 

By F. Du Boisgobey . . 

547 Coquette’s Conquest, A. By 

Basil 

104 Coral Pin, The. By F. Du Bois- 

gobey. 1st half 

104 Coral Pin, The. By F. Du Bois- 
gobey. 2d half 

598 Corinna. By “Rita” 

262 Count of Monte-Cristo, The. 

By Alexander Dumas. Part I 
262 Count of Monte-Cristo. The. 

By Alexander Dumas. Part II 
637 Country Gentleman, A. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 

590 Courting of Mary Smith, The. 

By F. W. Robinson 

258 Cousins. By L. B. Walford 

649 Cradle and Spade. By William 

Sime 

630 Cradock Nowell. By R. D. 

Blackmore. First half 

630 Cradock Nowell. By R. D. 

Blackmore. Second half 

108 Cricket orf the Hearth, The, 
and Doctor Marigold. By 

Charles Dickens 

376 Crime of Christmas Day, The. 
By the author of “ My Ducats 

and My Daughter ” 

706 Crimson Stain, A. By Annie 

Bradshaw 

629 Cripps, the Carrier. By R. D. 

Blackmore 

504 Curly: An Actor’s Story. By 
John Coleman. Illustrated. 
My Poor Wife. By the author 

of “ Addie’s Husband ” 

544 Cut by the County; or. Grace 
Darnel. By Miss M. E. Brad- 
don 

446 Dame Durden. By “ Rita ”... 

34 Daniel Deronda. By George 

Eliot. First half .. .* 

34 Daniel Deronda. By George 
Eliot. Second half 


Dark Days. By Hugh Conway 10 
Dark House, The: A Knot Un- 


raveled. By G. Manville Fenu 10 
Daughter of Heth, A. By Will- 
iam Black 20 

Daughter of the Stars, The, and 
Other Tales. By Hugh Con- 
way. author of “ Called 

Back ” 10 

David Copperfleld. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. 1 20 

David Copperfleld. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. II 20 

Days of My Life. The. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

Dead Heart, A, and Lady Gwen- 
doline’s Dream. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

Dead Man’s Secret, The. By Dr. 

Jupiter Paeon 20 

Dead Men’s Shoes. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Deldee; or. The Iron Hand. By 

F. Warden 20 

Diamond Cut Diamond. By T. 

Adolphus Trollope ' 10 

Diana Carew ; or. For a Wom- 
an’s Sake. By Mrs. Forrester 20 
Diana of the Crossways. By 

George Meredith 10 

Diavola; or* Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 

Part 1 20 

Diavola: or. Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 

Pari II 20 

Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

Fifteen. By Jules Verne 20 

Dick’s Sweetheart. By “The 

Duchess ” 20 

Dissolving Views. By Mrs. An- 
drew Lang 10 

Dita. By Lady Margaret Ma- 

jendie 10 

Doctor J acob. By Miss Betham- 

Ed wards 20 

Doctor’s Wife, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Dolores. By Mrs. Forrester. . . 20 
Dombey and Son. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 20 

Dombey and Son. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 20 

Donal Grant. By George Mac- 
Donald 20 

Don Gesualdo. By “ Ouida.”. . 10 
Dora Thorne. By Charlotte M. 

Braeme 20 

Doris. By “ The Duchess ” 10 

Dorothy Forster. By Walter 

Besant 20 

Dorothy’s Venture. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

Dove in the Eagle’s Nest, The. 

By Charlotte M. Yonge 20 

Drawn Game, A. By Basil 20 

Ducie Diamonds, The. By C. 
Blatherwick 10 


301 

20 609 

10 81 

20 251 

10 

20 

22 

10 22 

20 527 

10 305 

20 

20 374 

20 567 

20 J86 

20 115 

20 744 

20 350 

10 

478 

20 

20 478 

20 

87 

20 

20 486 

20 536 

20 185 

20 594 

529 

10 

721 

107 

10 

107 

10 

282 

20 

671 

51 

10 284 

230 

10 678 

20 665 

20 585 

151 

20 

(3) 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition. 


► 


549 Dudley Carleon ; or. The Broth- 
er’s Secret, and George Caul- 
field’s Journey. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 10 


575 

95 


465 Earl’s Atonement, The. By 


Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

8 East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 20 

685 England under Gladstone. 1880 
—1885. By Justin H. McCar- 
thy, M.P 20 

521 Entangled. By E. Fairfax 

Byrrne 20 

625 Erema; or, My Father’s Sin. 

By R. D. Blackmore 20 

96 Erling the Bold. By R. M. Bal- 

lantyne 10 

90 Ernest Maltravers. By Sir E. Bul- 

wer Lytton 20 

162 Eugene Aram. By Sir E. Bulwer 

Lytton 20 

470 Evelyn’s Folly. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 20 

62 Executor, The. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander 20 

13 Eyre’s Acquittal. By Helen B. 
Mathers 10 


674 

199 

579 

745 

156 

173 

197 

150 

278 

608 

712 

586 


319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables. By R. E. Francillon. 10 
538 Fair Country Maid, A. By E. 

Fairfax Byrrne 20 

261 Fair Maid, A. By F. W. Robin- 
son 20 

417 Fair Maid of Perth, The; or, 

St. Valentine’s Day. By Sir 

Walter Scott, Bart 20 

626 Fair Mystery, A. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

727 Fair Women. By Mrs. Forrester 20 
30 Faith and Unfaith. By “ The 

Duchess” 20 

543 Family Affair, A. By Hugh 
Conway, author of “ Called 

Back” 20 

338 Family Difficulty, The. By Sa- 
rah Doudney 10 

090 Far From the Madding Crowd. 

By Thomas Hardy 20 

680 Fast and Loose. By Arthur 

Griffiths 20 

246 Fatal Dower, A. By the Author 
of “ His Wedded Wife ” .... 10 
299 Fatal Lilies, The, and A Bride 
from the Sea. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 


171 

468 

216 

438 

3&3 

226 

288 

732 

348 

285 

365 


331 

208 


Thorne ” 

548 Fatal Marriage, A, and The 
Shadow in the Corner. By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical. By 

George Eliot 

542 Fenton’s Quest. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 


10 

10 

20 


20 


613 


225 

300 


( 4 ) 


File No. 113. By Emile Gabo- 

riau 20 

Finger of Fate, The. By Cap- 
tain Mayne Reid 20 

Fire Brigade, The. By R. M. 

Ballantyne 10 

First Person Singular. By Da- 
vid Christie Murray 20 

Fisher Village, The. By Anne 

Beale 10 

Flower of Doom, The, and 
Other Stories. By M. Betham- 

Edwards 10 

For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 
gle for Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

“ For a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

Foreigners, The. By Eleanor C. 

Price 20 

For Her Dear Sake. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

For Himself Alone. By T. W. 

Speight 10 

For Life and Love. By Alison. 10 
For Lilias. By Rosa Nouchette 

Carey 20 

For Maimie’s Sake. By Grant 

Allen 20 

“ For Percival.” By Margaret 

Veley 20 

Fortune’s Wheel. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

Fortunes, Good and Bad, of a 
Sewing-Girl, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Stanley. . . 10 

Foul Play. By Charles Reade. 20 
Found Out. By Helen B. 

Mathers 10 

Frank Fairle^h : or, Scenes 
From the Life of a Private 
Pupil. By Frank E. Smedley 20 

Friendship. By “Ouida” 20 

From Gloom to Sunlight. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

From Olympus to Hades. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

From Post to Finish. A Racing 
Romance. By Hawley Smart 20 

Gambler’s Wife, The 20 

George Christy ; or. The Fort- 
unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 

Pastor 20 

Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price.. 20 
Ghost of Charlotte Cray, The, 
and Other Stories. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 10 

Ghost’s Touch, The, and Percy 
and the Prophet. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

Giant’s Robe, The. By F. Anstey 20 
Gilded Sin, A, and A Bridge 
of Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. -Pocket Edition. 


644 Girton Girl, A. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 

140 Glorious Fortune, A. By Wal- 

• • • • • • 

647 Goblin Gold. By May Crom- 

melin 

450 Godfrey Helstone. By Georgi- 
an a M. Craik 

153 Golden Calf, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 

306 Golden Dawn, A, and Love for a 
Day. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”.. . 
656 Golden Flood, The. By R. E. 

Francillon and Wm. Senior. . 
172 “ Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir 
292 Golden Heart, A. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 

667 Golden Lion of Granpere, The. 

By Anthony Trollope 

356 Good Hater, A. By Frederick 

Boyle 

710 Greatest Heiress in England, 

The. By Mrs. Oli pliant 

439 Great Expectations. By Charles 

Dickens 

135 Great Heiress, A : A Fortune in 
Seven Checks. By R. E. Fran- 
cillon 

244 Great Mistake, A. By the author 

of “His Wedded Wife” 

170 Great Treason, A. By Mary 

Hoppus 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 

By Win. Black 

231 Griffith Gaunt; or. Jealousy. 

By Charles Reade 

677 Griselda. By the author of “ A 
Woman’s Love-Story” 


597 Haco the Dreamer. By William 

Sime 

668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French 

Romance 

663 Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover 
84 Hard Times. By Chas. Dickens 
622 Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. By 

Anthony Trollope 

191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles 

Lever 

569 Harry Muir. By Mrs. Oliphant 
169 Haunted Man, The. By Charles 
Dickens. . 

533 Hazel Kirke. By Marie Walsh 
385 Headsman, The; or, The Ab- 
baye des Vignerons. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 

672 Healey. By Jessie Fothergill. 
167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie 

Collins 

444 Heart of Jane Warner, The. By 

Florence Marryat 

391 Heart of Mid-Lothian, The. By 

Sir Walter Scott 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 
Deuce. By David Christie 
Murray 


Heiress of Hilldrop, The; or. 
The Romance of a Young 


Girl. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 
Heir Presumptive, The. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 
Other Tales. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 10 

Henrietta’s W 7 ish; or, Domi- 
neering. By Charlotte M. 

Yonge 10 

Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah 

Tytler 10 

Her Martyrdom. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

Her Mother’s Sin. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne”.. 10 

Hidden Perils. Mary Cecil Hay 10 

Hidden Sin, The. A Novel 20 

Hilary’s Folly. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

Hilda. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 
History of a Week, The. By 

Mrs. L. B. W 7 alford 10 

Histor 5 r of Henry Esmond, The. 

By William M. Thackeray .. . 20 
His Wedded 'Wife. By author 
of “ Ladybird’s Penitence ”. . 20 
Homeward Bound; or, The 

Chase. By J. F. Cooper 20 

Home as Found. (Sequel to 
“ Homeward Bound.”) By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

Hostages to Fortune. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

Houp-La. By John Strange 

Winter. (Illustrated) 10 

Hurrish : A Study. By the 

Hon. Emily Lawless 20 

House Divided Against Itself, 

A. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

House on the Marsh, The. By 

F. Warden io 

House on the Moor, The. By 

Mrs. Oliphant.. 20 

House That Jack Built, The. 

By Alison p) 

Husband’s Story, A 10 

Ichabod. A Portrait. By Bertha 

Thomas io 

Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

I Have Lived and Loved. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

Ingledew House, and More Bit- 
ter than Death. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thome ” 10 

In Cupid’s Net. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” io 

In Durance Vile. By “ The 
Duchess ” 10 


741 

20 

10 

689 

10 

513 

20 

30 535 

10 180 

10 576 

20 

19 

10 

20 196 

518 

20 297 

20 

294 

20 

658 

10 165 

20 461 

30 378 

20 379 

20 

552 

20 

600 

748 

10 

703 

20 

20 248 

10 

351 

10 

481 

20 

20 198 

10 

20 389 

188 

20 715 

20 

303 

20 

20 

304 

20 

404 

20 

(5) 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition. 


324 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 

672 In Maremma. By “ Ouida.” 1st 

half 

672 In Maremma. By “ Ouida.” 2d 

half 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 
Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. First 

Half 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 
Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. Sec- 
ond Half 

577 In Peril and Privation. By 

James Payn 

638 In Quarters with the 25th (The 
Black Horse) Dragoons. By 

J. S. Winter 

759 In Shallow Waters. By Annie 

Armitt 

39 Tn Silk Attire. By William Black 
738 In the Golden Days. By Edna 

Lyall 

682 In the Middle Watch. By W. 

Clark Russell 

452 In the West Countrie. By May 

Crommelin 

383 Introduced to Society. By Ham- 
ilton Aid6 

122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. L 3 'nn 

Linton 

233 “ I Say No;” or, The Love-Let- 
ter Answered. By Wilkie Col- 
lins .* 

235 “ It is Never Too Late to Mend.” 

By Charles Reade 

28 Ivanhoe. By Sir Walter Scott. 


534 Jack. By Alphonse Daudet 

416 Jack Tier ; or, The Florida Reef. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper, 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 1st half 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 2d half 

519 James Gordon’s Wife, A Novel 
15 Jane Eyre. By Charlotte Bront6 
728 Janet’s Repentance. By George 

Eliot 

142 Jenifer. By Annie Thomas 

357 John. By Mrs. Oliphant 

203 John Bull and His Island. By 

Max O’Rell 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True Light. By a ‘‘Brutal 

Saxon ” 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman. By 

Miss Mulock 

209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell 

694 John Maidment. By Julian 

Sturgis 

570 John Marchmont’s Legacy. By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 

619 Joy; or, The Light of Cold- 
Home Ford. By May Crom- 
melin 


Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 
Affairs and Other Advent- 


ures. By William Black 20 

Judith Wynne 20 

June. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

Just As I Am. By Miss M. E. 
Braddon 20 

Kilmeny. By William Black. . 20 
Klytia : A Story of Heidelberg 
Castle. By George Taylor. . . 20 

Lady Branksmere. By “The 

Duchess” 20 

Lady Audley’s Secret. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

Lady Clare ; or. The Master of 
the Forges. From the French 

of Georges Ohnet 10 

Lady Darner's Secret. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

Lady Gay’s Pride; or. The Mi- 
ser’s Treasure. By Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller 20 

Lady Lovelace. By the author 

of “Judith Wynne” 20 

Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean 

Middlemas 20 

Lady of Lyons, The. Founded 
on the Play of that title by 

Lord Lytton 10 

Lady’s Mile, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Lady With the Rubies, The. By 

E. Marlitt 20 

Lancaster's Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

Lancelot Ward, M.P. By George 

Temple 10 

Land Leaguers, The. By An- 
thony Trollope 20 

Last Days at Apswich 10 

Last Days of Pompeii, The. By 
Bulwer Lytton 20 


Last of the Barons, The, By Sir 
E. Bulwer Lytton. 1st half.. 20 
Last of the Barons, The. By Sir 
E. Bulwer Lytton. 2d half.. 20 
Last of the Mohicans, The. By 


J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

Laurel Vane; or, The Girls’ 
Conspiracy. By Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller 20 

Lazarus in London. By F. W. 

Robinson 20 

Led Astray ; or, “ La Petite 
Comtesse.” Octave Feuillet. 10 
Leila ; or, The Siege of Grenada. 

By Bulwer Lytton 10 

Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 

Hay s 20 

Lewis Arundel; or, The Rail- 
road of Life. By Frank E. 

Smedley 20 

Life and Adventures of Martin 
Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 2 a 


265 

10 

20 332 

80 

20 561 

20 126 

435 

20 

10 733 

35 

10 

219 

20 

20 

469 

20 

20 268 

20 

506 

10 

155 

20 

161 

20 

497 

20 

20 652 

269 

20 

599 

20 

32 

20 

684 

20 40 

20 

20 130 

10 130 

20 

20 60 

10 267 

10 455 

20 386 

10 164 

20 408 

20 562 

20 

437 

20 

Oh 


THE SEASIDE LI BE ARY. -Pocket Edition. 


437 Life and Adventures of Martin 
Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 

698 Life’s Atonement, A. By David 

Christie Murray 

617 Like Dian’s Kiss. By “ Rita ”. 
402 Lilliesleaf: or, Passages in the 
Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
land of Suunyside. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 

397 Lionel Lincoln ; or, The Leaguer 
of Boston. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 

279 Little Goldie: A Story of Wom- 
an’s Love. By Mrs. Sumner 

Hayden 

109 Little Loo. By W. Clark Russell 
179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

Farjeon 

45 Little Pilgrim, A. By Mrs. Oli- 
phant 

272 Little Savage, The. By Captain 

Marryat 

Ill Little School-master Mark, The. 

By J. H. Shorthouse 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. By 

Mabel Collins 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black - 

more. First half 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black- 

more. Second half 

473 Lost Son, A. By Mary Linskill. 
354 Lottery of Life, The. A Story 
of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham . . 
453 Lottery Ticket, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey 

479 Louisa. By Katharine S. Mac- 

quoid 

742 Love and Life. By Charlotte 
M. Yons'e. 

273 Love and Mirage: or. The Wait- 

ing on an Island. By M. 

Betham-Ed wards.. 

232 Love and Money; or, A Peril- 
ous Secret. By Chas. Reade. 
146 Love Finds the Way, and Other 
Stories. By Walter Besant 

and James Rice 

313 Lover’s Creed, The. By Mrs. 
Cashel Hoey 

573 Love’s Harvest. B. L. Farjeon 
175 Love’s Random Shot. By Wilkie 

Collins 

757 Love’s Martyr. By Laurence 

Alma Tadema 

291 Love’s Warfare. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford, and Eric 
Deriug. By “ The Duchess ” 


Lucia, Hugh and Another. By 


Mrs. J. H. Needed 20 

Luck of the Darrells, The. By 

James Payn 20 

Lucy Croftou. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

Macleod of Dare. By William 

Black 20 

Madame De Presnel. By E. 

Frances Poyuter 20 

Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

Madcap Violet. By Wm. Black 20 
Mad Love, A. By the author of 

“Lover and Lord” 10 

Madolin’s Lover. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

Madolin Rivers; or, The Little 
Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

By Laura Jean Libbey 20 

Magdalen Hepburn : A Story of 
the Scottish Reformation. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

Maiden All Forlorn. A, and Bar- 
bara. By “ The Duchess ”... 10 
Maiden Fair, A. Charles Gibbon 10 
Maid of Athens. By Justin 

McCarthy 20 

Maid of Sker, The. By R D. 

Blackmore. 1st half 20 

Maid of Sker, The. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 2d half 20 

Maid, Wife, or Widow? By 

Mrs. Alexander 10 

Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 
lins. First half 20 

Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 
lins. Second half 20 

Man of Honor, A. By John 
Strange Winter. Illustrated. 10 
Man She Cared For, The. By 

F. W. Robinson 20 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

Market Harborough. and Inside 
the Bar. G. J. WhjTe-Melville 20 
Marriage of Convenience, A. 

By Harriett Jay 10 

Married in Haste. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

Mary Anerley. By R. D. Black- 

more 20 

Master Humphrey’s Clock. Bj^ 

Charles Dickens 10 

Master of the Mine, The. By 
Robert Buchanan 20 


Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Part I. 10 
Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Part II 10 
Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Part III 10 
Matt: A Tale of a Caravan. 


By Robert Buchanan 10 

Mauleverer’s Millions. By T. 
Wemyss Reid 20 


May Blossom ; or. Between Two 
Loves. By Margaret Lee. ... 20 


582 

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20 

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345 

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723 

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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.- Pocket Edition, 


837 Memoirs and Resolutions of 
Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
including some Chronicles of 
the Borough of Fendie. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or, Tne 
Voyage to Cath ay. By J . Fen- 

imore Cooper 

406 Merchant’s Clerk, The. By Sam- 
uel Warren 

31 MidJlemarch. By George Eliot. 

First half 

31 Middlemarcli. By George Eliot. 

Second half 

187 Midnight Sun, The. ByFredrika 

Bremer 

729 Mignon. By Mrs. Forrester... 
492 Mignon ; or, Booties’ Baby. By 

J. S. Winter 

692 Mikado, The, and other Comic 
Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 

Sullivan 

390 Mildred Trevanion. By “ The 

Duchess ” 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 
“ Afloat and Ashore.”) By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 

3 Mill on the Floss, The. By 

George Eliot 

157 Milly’sHero. By F. W. Robinson 

18g Millionaire, The 

205 Minister’s Wife, The. By Mrs. 

Oliphant.. 

899 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee. . 
369 MissBretherton. By Mrs. Hum- 
phry Ward 

245 Miss Tommy. By Miss Mulock 
315 Mistletoe Bough, The. Edited 

by Miss M. E. Braddon 

618 Mistletoe Bough, The. Christ- 
mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 

298 Mitchelhurst Place. By Marga- 
ret Veley 

584 Mixed Motives 

2 Molly Bawn. By “ The Duch- 
ess ” 

159 Moment of Madness, A, and 
Other Stories. By Florence 

Marryat 

125 Monarch of Mincing Lane, The. 

By William Black 

201 Monastery, The. By Sir Walter 

Scott 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. 

By “The Duchess” 

431 Monikins, The. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile 

Gaboriau. -Vol. I 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile 

Gaboriau. Vol. II 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. 

By “The Duchess” 

102 Moonstone, The. Wilkie Collins 
178 More Leaves from the Journal 
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By Queen Victoria 


Moth's. By “Ouida” 20 

Mount Royal. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

Mr. Butler’s Ward. By F. Mabel 

Robinson : 20 

Mrs. Carr’s Companion. By M. 

G. Wightwick 10 

Mrs. Dymond. By Miss Thacke- 
ray 20 

Mrs. Geoffrey. By “ The Duch- 
ess ” 20 

Mrs. Hollyer. By Georgiana M. 

Craik 20 

Mrs. Keith’s Crime 10 

Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings. By 

Charles Dickens. . . 10 

Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 

By L. B. Walford 20 

Mrs. Smith of Longmains. By 
Rhoda Broughton, and Oli- 
ver’s Bride. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 
Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid. 

By Mrs. Alexander 10 

Murder or Manslaughter? By 

Helen B. Mathers 10 

My Ducats and My Daughter. 

By the author of “ The Crime 

or Christmas Day ” 20 

My Friends and i. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis 10 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester.. 20 
My Lady’s Money. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

Mi r Lord and My Lady. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

My Sister Kate. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne,” and A Rainj r June. 

By “Ouida” 10 

Mysteries of Paris, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Parti 20 

Mysteries of Paris, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Part II 20 

Mysterious Hunter, The; or, 
The Man of Death. By Capt. 

L. C. Carleton 20 

Mystery of Allan Grale, The. By 

Isabella Fyvie Mayo 20 

Mystery of Edwin Drood, The. 

By Chas. Dickens 20 

Mystery of Jessy Page, The, 
and Other Tales. By Mrs. 

Henry Wood 10 

Mystery of Orcival, The. By 

Emile Gaboriau 20 

Mystery, The. By Mrs Henry 

Wood 20 

My Ten Years’ Imprisonment. 

By Silvio Pellico 10 

My Wife's Niece. By the author 
of “ Doctor Edith Romney ”. 20 
My Young Alcides. By Char- 
lotte M. Yonge 20 


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phonse Daudet 20 

Nancy. By Rhoda Broughton. 20 


116 

495 

501 

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113 

20 675 

10 25 

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20 546 

440 

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339 

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( 8 ) 


TI1E SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition . 


509 Nell Haffenden. By Tighe Hop- 
kins 

181 New Abelard, The. By Robert 

Buchanan 

464 Newcomes, The. By William 
Makepeace Thackeray. Part 


464 Newcomes, The. By William 
Makepeace Thackeray. Part 

II 

52 New Magdalen, The. By Wilkie 

Collins 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 

105 Noble Wife, A. John Saunders 
565 No Medium. By Annie Thomas 
614 No. 99. By Arthur Griffiths... 
290 Nora’s Love Test. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 

595 North Country Maid, A. By 

Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 

215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey. . 

640 Nuttie’s Father. By Charlotte 
M. Yonge 


425 Oak-Openings, The; or, The 
Bee-Hunter. ByJ.Fenimore 

Cooper 

211 Octoroon, The 

183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto- 
ries. By Florence Manyat . . 
10 Old Curiosity Shop, The. By 

Charles Dickens 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oli- 

pliaut. 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money. By 

Mary Cecil Hay 

41 Oliver Twist. By Chas. Dickens 

505 Ombra. By Mrs. Oliphant 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 
ciety. By Mrs. Forrester 

143 One False, Both Fair. By John 

B. Harwood 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 
Minor. By Captain Fred Bur- 
naby 

498 Only a Clod. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 

496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 

655 Open Door, The, and The Por- 
trait. By Mrs. Oliphant 

708 Ormond. By Maria Edgeworth 
12 Other People's Money. By 

Emile Gaboriau 

639 Othmar. By “ Ouida ” 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 

747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 
by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P. 


Pair of Blue Eyes, A. By Thom- 


as Hardy'. 20 

Parson o’ Dumford, The. By 

G. Manville Feun 20 

Pascarel. By “Ouida” 20 

Passive Crime, A, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ” 10 
Pathfinder, The. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

Paul Clifford. By Sir E. Bulwer 

Lytton, Bart 20 

Paul Crew's Story. By Alice 

Corny ns Carr 10 

Paul Vargas, and Other Stories. 

By Hugh Conway, author of 

“Called Back” 10 

Peeress and Player. By Flor- 
ence Marry at 20 

Peril. By Jessie Fothergill ... 20 
Perpetual Curate, The. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

Peter the Whaler. By William 

H. G. Kingston 10 

Peveril of the Peak. By Sir 

Walter Scott 20 

Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 
for Men and Women. By 

George Macdonald 10 

Phantom Fortune. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Philistia. By Cecil Power 20 

Philosophy of Whist, The. By 
William Pole 20 


Phyllis. By “ The Duchess ”. . 20 
Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 
thor of “ His Wedded Wife ”. 10 
Piccadilly. Laurence Oliphant 10 
Pickwick Papers. By Charles 


Dickens. Vol. 1 20 

Pickwick Papers. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. II 20 

Pictures From Italy, and The 
Mudfog Papers, &c. By Chas. 

Dickens 20 

Picture, The, and Jack of All 
Trades. By Charles Reade. .. 10 
Pi^douche, a French Detective. 

By Fortuu6 Du Boisgobey... 10 
Pioneers, The ; or, The Sources 
of the Susquehanna. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

Pirate, The. By Sir Walter Scott &) 

Polish Jew, The. (Translated 
from the French by Caroline 
A. Merighi.) By Erckmann- 

Chatrian 10 

Portent, The. By George Mac- 
donald 10 

Portia. By “ The Duchess ”... 20 
Poverty Corner. By G. Manville 

Fenn : 20 

Prairie, The. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

Precaution. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

Pretty Jailer, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 1st half.’. 20 

Pretty Jailer, The. By F. Du 
Boisgobey. 2d half 20 


530 

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697 

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<B> 


TEE SEASIDE TABU ARY. —Pocket Edition. 


207 Pretty Miss Neville. By B. M. 

Crolcer 

475 Prima Donna's Husband, The. 

By F. Du Boisgobey 

531 Prime Minister, The. By An- 
thony Trollope. First Half . . 
531 Prime Minister, The. By An- 
thony Trollope. Second Half 
624 Primus in Indis. By M. J. Col- 

quhoun 

249 “ Prince Charlie's Daughter.” 
By Charlotte M. Braeine, au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 

556 Prince of Darkness, A. By F. 

Warden 

704 Prince Otto. By R. L. Steven- 
son 

228 Princess Napraxine. “Ouida” 
23 -Princess of Thule, A. By Will- 
iam Black 

88 Privateersman, The. By Cap- 
tain • Marry at 

321 Prodigals, The: And Their In- 
heritance. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
144 Promises of Marriage. By Emile 

Gaboriau 

260 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 
516 Put Asunder; or, Lady Castle- 
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lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 

487 Put to the Test. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 

214 Put Yourself in His Place. By 
Charles Reade 

68 Queen Amongst Women, A. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “Dora Thorne” 

591 Queen of Hearts, The. By Wil- 
kie Collins 


641 Rabbi’s Spell, The. By Stuart 

C. Cumberland 

147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Troll- 
ope 

661 Rainbow .Gold. By David Chris- 
tie Murray 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. First half 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. Second half 

442 Ranthorpe. By George Henry 

Lewes . . , 

327 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 
the German of E. Werner.) 

By Christina Tyrrell 

210 Readiana: Comments on Cur- 
rent Events. By Chas. Reade 
381 Red Cardinal, The. By Frances 

Elliot 

73 Redeemed by Love. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 

89 Red Eric, The. ByR. M. Ballan- 

tyne 

463 Redgauntlet. By Sir Walter 
Scott 


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20 

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10 

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20 


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10 

10 

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20 

20 

10 

20 

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20 

20 

20 

20 


580 Red Route, The. By William 

Sime 20 

361 Red Rover, The. A Tale of the 

Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 
421 Redskins, The; or, Indian and 
Injin. Being the conclusion 
of the Littlepage Manuscripts. 

B.y J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

127 Remarkable History of Sir, 


Thomas Upmore, Bart., M.P., 
The. Formerly known as 
“ Tommy Upmore.” By R. 

D. Blackmore 20 

237 Repented at Leisure. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

740 Rhona. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

375 Ride to Khiva, A. By Captain 

Fi ed Burnaby 20 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey 20 

190 Romance of a Black Veil. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

<5t “Dora Thorne” 10 

66 Romance of a Poor Young Man, 

The. By Octave Feuillet 10 

139 Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 
maid, The. By Thomas Hardy 10 

42 Romola. By George Eliot 20 

360 Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Francil- 

lon 20 

664 Rory O'More. By Samuel Lover 20 
670 Rose and the Ring, The. By 

W. M. Thackeray 10 

103 Rose Fleming. By Dora Russell 10 
296 Rose in Thorns, A. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 10 

193 Rosery Folk, The. By G. Man- 

ville Fenn 10 

129 Rossmoyne. By “The Duchess” 10 
180 Round the Galley Fire. By W. 

Clark Russell 10 

566 Royal Highlanders, The; or, 
The Black Watch in Egypt. 

By James Grant 20 

736 Roy and Viola. Mrs. Forrester 20 
409 Roy’s Wife. By G. J. Whyte- 

Melville 20 

489 Rupert Godwin. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

457 Russians at the Gates of Herat, 

The. By Charles Marvin. ... 10 


20 


20 

10 

10 


20 

10 

20 


616 Sacred Nugget, The. By B. L. 

Far jeon 20 

223 Sailor’s Sweetheart, A. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

177 Salem Chapel. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 
420 Satanstoef or, The Littlepage 
Manuscripts. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

660 Scottish Chiefs, The. By Miss 

Jane Porter. 1st half 20 

660 Scottish Chiefs, The. By Miss 

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699 Sculptor’s Daughter, The. By 
F. Du Boisgobey. 1st half ... 20 


( 10 ) ^ 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition. 


699 Sculptor’s Daughter, The. By 

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441 Sea Change, A. By Flora L. 

Shaw 

82 Sealed Lips. F. Du Boisgobey. 
423 Sea Lions, The; or, The Lost 
Sealers. By J. F. Cooper. . . 
85 Sea Queen, A. By W. Clark 
Russell 

490 Second Life, A. By Mrs. Alex- 

ander 

101 Second Thoughts. By Rhoda 

Broughton 

387 Secret of the Cliffs, The. By 

Charlotte French 

607 Self-Doomed. By B. L. Farjeon 
651 “ Self or Bearer.” By Walter 

Besant 

474 Serapis. An Historical Novel. 

Bj t George Ebers 

445 Shadow of a Crime, The. By 

Hall Caine 

293 Shadow of a Sin. The. ByQjbar- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 

18 Shandon Bells. By Wm. Black 
418 St. Ronan’s Well. By Sir Waiter 

Scott 

141 She Loved Him! By Annie 

Thomas 

520 She's All the World to Me. By 

Hall Caine 

57 Shirley. By Charlotte Bront6. 

239 Signa. By“Ouida” 

707 Silas Marner: The Weaver of 
of Raveloe. By George Eliot 
539 Silvermead. By Jean Middle- 

mas 

681 Singer’s Story, A. By May 

Laff an 

252 Sinless Secret, A. By “ Rita ” 
283 Sin of a Lifetime, The. By 
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of “ Dora Thorne ” 

515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 

643 Sketch-book of Geoffrey Cray- 
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456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative 
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601 Slings and Arrows, and other 
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491 Society in London. By a For- 

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505 Society of London, The. By 

Count Paul Vasili. 

114 Some of Our Girls. By Mrs. C. 

J. Eiloart 

412 Some One Else. By B. M. Croker 
194 “So Near, and Yet So Far!” 

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368 Southern Star, The ; or, The Dia- 
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63 Spy, The. By J. Fenimoi’e 
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Squire’s Legacy, The. By Mary 

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Starling, The. By Norman 

Macleod, D.D 10 

Stella. By Fanny Lewald 20 

“ Storm-Beaten God and The 
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Story of a Sin. By Helen B. 

Mathers 20 

Story of Dorothy Grape, The, 
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Story of Ida, The. B} r Francesca 10 
Strange Adventures of a Phae- 
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Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 
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Stevenson 10 

Strangers and Pilgrims. Bj- 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

Strange Story, A. By Sir E. 

Bulwer Lytton 20 

Strange Voyage, A. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

Strange World, A. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Struck Down. By Hawley Smart 10 
Struggle for a Ring, A. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

Struggle for Fame, A. By Mrs. 

J. H. Riddell 20 

Sun-Maid, The. By Miss Grant 20 
Sunrise : A Story of These Times 

By Wm. Black 20 

Sunshine and Roses ; or, Diana’s 
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Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

Surgeon’s Daughters, The. By 
Mrs. Henry Wood. A Man of 
His Word. By W. E. Norris. 10 
Surgeon’s Daughter, The. By 


Sir Walter Scott 10 

Sweet is True Love. By “ The 

Duchess ” 10 

Sworn to Silence; or, Aline 
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Taken at the Flood. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

Tale of the Shore and Ocean, A. 

By William H. G. Kingstop.. 20 
Tale of Two Cities, A. By 

Charles Dickens 20 

Talk of the Town, The. By 

James Payn 20 

Terrible Temptation, A. By 

Clias. Reade 20 

Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Miss 

Jane Porter 20 

That Beautiful Wretch. By 

William Black ' 20 

“That Last Rehearsal,” and 
Other Stories. By “ The 
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281 

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145 

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117 

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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— -Pocket Edition. 


355 That Terrible Man. By W. E. 
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48 Thicker Than Water. By James 

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184 Thiriby Hall. By W. E. Norris 
148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. 
By Charlotte M. Braeme, au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 

275 Three Brides, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Yonge 

124 Three Feathers. By Wm. Black 
55 Three Guardsmen, The. By 

Alexander Dumas 

382 Three Sisters. By Elsa D’Es- 

t.prrP-TT ppI i yi cr 

471 Thrown on the Worid. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 

367 Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart 
485 Tinted Vapours. By J.Maclaren 

Cobban 

503 Tinted Venus, The. By F. Anstey 
120 Tom Brown's School Days at 
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243 Tom Burke of "Ours.” By 
Charles .Lever. First half... 
243 Tom Burke of "Ours.” By 
Charles Lever. Second half. 
557 To the Bitter End. B3 7 Miss M. 

E. Braddon 

346 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan 

Muir 

100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. 

By Jules Verne 

75 Twenty Years After. By Alex- 
ander Dumas 

714 ’Twixt Love and Duty. By 

Tighe Hopkins 

349 Two Admirals, The. A Tale of 
the Sea. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 

307 Two Kisses, and Like no Other 
Love. By Charlotte M. Braeme 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 
242 Two Orphans, The. By D’En- 

nery 

563 Two Sides of the Shield, The. 

By Charlotte M. Yonge 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. 

Py R. H. Dana, Jr 

407 Tj lney Hall. By Thomas Hood 


137 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 
152 Uncommercial Traveler, The. 

By Charles Dickens 

174 Under a Ban. By Mrs. Lodge. 
654 " Us.” An Old-fashioned Story. 

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460 Under a Shadow. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

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276 Under the Lilies and Roses. 
By Florence Marryat (Mrs. 

Francis Lean) . . 

110 Under the Red Flag. By Miss 
M. E. Bi-addon 


Under Two Flags. By “ Ouida ” 20 


Under Which King? By Comp- 
ton Reade 20 

Unfairly Won. By Mrs. Power 

O’Donoghue 20 

Unforeseen, The. By Alice 

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Unholy Wish, The. By Mrs. 
Henry Wood. The Girl at the 

Gate. By Wilkie Collins 10 

Until the Day Breaks. By 
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Valentiue Strange. By David 

Christie Murray 20 

Valerie’s Fate. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander 10 

Vanity Fair. By William M. 

Thackeray 20 

Venus’s Doves. By Ida Ash- 
worth Taylor 20 

Very Hard Cash. By Charles 

Reade... 20 

Vice Versa. By F. Anstey 20 

Victor and Vanquished. By 

Mary Cecil Hay 20 

Victory Deane. Bj 7 Cecil Griffith 20 

Vida’s Story 10 

Viva. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

Vixen. By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

Waif of the “ Cynthia,” The. 

By Jules Verne 20 

Wanda, Countess von Szalras. 

By "Ouida” 20 

Wandering Jew, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Part 1 20 

Wanderihg Jew, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Part II 20 

Warden, The. By Anthony 

Trollope 10 

Water-Babies, The. By the 

Rev. Charles Kingsley. * 10 

Waters of Hercules. Tlie 20 

Waters of Marah, The. By John 

Hill 20 

Water-Witch, The. By J. Feni- 
more Cooper 20 

Waverley. By Sir Walter Scott 20 
“ Way of the World, The.” By 

David Christie Murray 20 

Ways of the Hour, The. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

“Wearing of the Green, The.” 

By Basil 20 

Week in Killaruey, A. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

Week of Passion, A; or, The 
Dilemma of Mr. George Bar- 
ton the Y'ounger. By Edward 

Jenkins 20 

Wedded and Parted. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 10 

Wedded Hands. A Novel 20 


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20 

79 

10 

10 628 

( 12 ) 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition. 


400 Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish, The. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

637 What’s His Offence? A Novel. 20 
722 What’s Mine’s Mine. By George 

Macdonald 20 

679 Where Two Ways Meet. By 

Sarah Doudney 10 

220 Which Loved Him Best? By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

236 Which Shall It Be? By Mrs. 

Alexander *20 

627 White Heather. ByWm. Black 20 

70 White Wings: A Yachting Ro- 
mance. By William Black . . 10 

335 White Witch, The 20 

38 Widow Lerouge, The. By Emile 

Gabor iau 20 

76 Wife in Name Only. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

254 Wife’s Secret, The, and Fair 
but False. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 10 

323 Willful Maid. A 20 

373 Wing and Wing. By J. Feui- 

more Cooper 20 

163 Winifred Power. By Joyce Dar- 
rell 20 

472 Wise Women of Inverness, 

The. By Wm. Black 10 

134 Witching Hour, The, and Other 

Stories . By “ The Duchess ”. 10 
432 Witch’s Head, The. By H. 

Rider Haggard 20 

20 Within an Inch of His Life. 

By Emile Gaboriau 20 


358 Within the Clasp. By J. Ber- 


• wick Harwood 20 

. 98 Woman-Hater, A. By Charles 

Reade 20 

705 Woman I Loved, The, and the 
Woman Who Loved Me. By 

Isa Blagden 10 

701 Woman in White. The. By Wil- 
kie Collins. First half 20 

701 Woman in White, The. By Wil- 
kie Collins. Second half 20 

322 Woman’s Love-Story, A 10 

459 Woman’s Temptation, A. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

295 Woman’s War, A. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 10 

17 Wooing O’t, The. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander 20 

380 Wyandotte; or, The Hutted 
Knoll. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 
434 Wyllard’s Weird. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 


1 Yolande. By William Black.. 20 
709 Zenobia; or. The Fall of Pal- 


myra. By William Ware. 

First half 20 

709 Zenobia; or. The Fall ’of Pal- 
myra. By William Ware. 

Second half 10 

428 Z6ro: A Story of Monte-Carlo. 

By Mrs. Campbell Praed 10 

522 Zig-Zag, the Clown; or, The 
Steel Gauntlets. By F. Du 
Boisgobey. 28 


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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition 

LATEST ISSUES: 


NO. PRICK. 

669 Pole on Whist 20 

732 From Olympus to Hades. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

733 Lady Brauksmere. By “The 

Duchess ” 20 

734 Viva. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

735 Until the Day Breaks. By 

Emily Spender 20 

736 Roy and viola. Mrs. Forrester 20 

737 Aunt Rachel. By David Christie 

Murray 10 

738 In the Golden Days. By Edna 

Lyall ' 20 

739 The Caged Lion. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

740 Rhona. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

741 The Heiress of Hilldrop; or, 

The Romance of a Young 
Girl. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 

742 Love and Life. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 1st half 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 2d half 20 

744 Diana Carew ; or, For a Wom- 

an’s Sake. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

745 For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 

gle for Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

746 Cavalry Life : or, Sketches and 

Stories in Barracks and Out. 

By J. S. Winter '. .. 20 

747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 

by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.. 10 

748 Hurrish : A Study. By the 

Hon. Emily Lawless 20 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. By 

Mabel Collins 20 

750 An Old Story of My Farming 

Days. By Fritz Reuter. First 

half 20 

750 An Old Story of My Farming 
Days. By Fritz Reuter. Second 
half 20 

752 Jackanapes, and Other Stories. 

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753 King Solomon’s Mines. By H. 

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754 How to be Happy Though Mar- 

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755 Margery Daw. A Novel 20 

756 The Strange Adventuresof Cap- 

tain Dangerous. A Narrative 
in Plain English. Attempted 
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NO. PRICE. 

757 Love’s Martyr. By Laurence 

Alma Tadema 10 

758 “Good-bye, Sweetheart!” By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

759 In Shallow Waters. By Annie 

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760 Aureliau; or, Rome in the Third 

Century. By William Ware. . 20 

761 Will Weatherhelm. By Wm. 

H. G. Kingston 20 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 

Such. By George Eliot 10 

763 The Midshipman. Marmaduke 

Merry. By Wm. H. G. Kingston 20 

764 The Evil Genius. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

765 Not Wisely, But Too Well. By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

766 No. XIII; or, the Story of the 

Lost Vestal. By Emma Mar- 
shall 10 

767 Joan. By Rhoda Broughton .. . 20 

768 Red as a Rose is She. By Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower. By 

Rboda Broughton 20 

770 The Castle of Otranto. By 

Horace Walpole. 10 

771 A Mental Struggle. By The 

Duchess” 20 

772 Gascoyne, the Sandal Wood 

Trader. By R. M. Ballantyne 20 

773 The Mark of Cain. By Andrew 

Lang 10 

774 The Life and Travels of Mungo 

Po vlr * 1 A 


775 The Three Clerks. By Anthony 

Trollope 20 

776 Pere Goriot. By H. De Balzac. 20 

778 Society’s Verdict. BytheAuthor 

of “ My Marriage ” 20 

779 Doom! An Atlantic Episode. 

By Justin H. McCarthy, M.P. 10 

780 Rare Pale Margaret. By author 

of “ What’s His Offence?” 20 

781 The Secret Dispatch. By James 

Grant 10 

785 The Haunted Chamber. By 
“ The Duchess ” 10 


787 Court Royal. A Story of Cross 
Currents. By S. Baring-Gould 20 
790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or. The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 1st half 20 
790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or, The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 2d half 20 


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ALL THE LITTLE AFFECTIONS OF THE 

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THAT DETRACT FROM APPEARANCE AND HAPPINESS 

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Without Injury to Health and Without Producing 
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jKOTHnsra nhcessaby to 

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Philosophy of Whist. 

AN ESSAY ON THE SCIENTIFIC AND INTELLECTUAL 
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IN TWO PARTS. 

Part I.-THE PHILOSOPHY OF WHIST PLAY. 

Part II.-THE PHILOSOPHY OF WHIST PROBABILITIES. 

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The New York Fashion Bazar. 

THE BEST AMERICAN HOME MAGAZINE. 

Price .5 Cents per Copy. Subscription Price $3>00 per Year. 


Among its regular contributors are Mart Cecil Hat, “The Duchess,’' 
author of “ Molly Bawn,” Luct Randall Comport, Charlotte M. Braemb, 
author of “ Dora Thorne,” Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller, Mart E. Brtan, 
author of “ Manch,” and Florence A. Warden, author of “ The House on the 
Marsh.” 


COMMENTS O 

The New York Fashion Bazar aims 
to give full information of what ladies 
and children should wear, and, from 
the space devoted to the matter, both 
pictorially and descriptively, we would 
suppose it succeeds. There is also a 
considerable amount of miscellaneous 
reading matter, especially of fiction. 
(Published by George Munro, New 
York City. $3.00 a year.) — United 
Presbyterian. 

The New York Fashion Bazar for 
this month, George Munro, publisher, 
is on our table, and an interesting 
number it is to the women of the land 
who have their spring costumes to 
make up. This magazine is standard 
and the best authority on matters of 
fashion.— Baptist Reflector. 

The current number of The New 
York Fashion Bazar, published by 
George Munro, New York, is an illus- 
trated library, as it were, of fashions 
in every branch of human wear. The 
figures, forms, and fittings are almost 
bewildering even to those who possess 
a quick eye to the subject that is so 
widely fascinating. The colored first 
page of the cover is too attractive to 
such people to be resisted. The Fash- 
ion Colored Supplement forms the 
frontispiece to tne present number. — 
New England Journal of Agriculture. 

We have received the last number of 
The New York Fashion Bazar, pub- 
lished by George Munro, New York 
City, the yearly subscription of which 
is only $3. Each number has a large 
colored fashion supplement, contain- 
ing New York and Paris fashions, and 
the book is full of illustrations of every 
conceivable article of ladies’ attire and 
descriptions how to make the same, 
besides serial stories and sketches and 
much miscellaneous matter.— Maine 
Farmer. 

The New York Fashion Bazar is f 
per copy. Subscription price $3.00 pei 


* THE PRESS: 

We have received the last number of 
The New York Fashion Bazar, and at 
a hasty glance we see it is an interest- 
ing magazine. Its fashions are useful 
to those ladies who do their own dress- 
making, or even decide how they shall 
be made, and its stories are fascinat- 
ing. What more can we say? Address 
George Munro, 17 Vande water Street, 
N. Y.— Worcester [Mass.] Chronicle. 

The New York Fashion Bazar, pub- 
lished by George Munro, is full of fash- 
ions and reading. It seems to be very 
full, and to be well adapted to the end 
sought. The yearly subscription is 
$3.00, or 25 cents a number. It is very 
large, containing seventy-four pages, 
large size.— Wilmington Morning 
Star. 

The New York Fashion Bazar con- 
tains an attractive variety of literary 
entertainments, stories, poems, sketch- 
es. etc., in addition to the display of 
ladies’ fashions which are its chief 
study. These are set forth with an 
array of pictures and descriptions 
which should leave nothing to doubt 
regarding the newest styles. The se- 
lection of embroidery patterns offers a 
tempting choice for artistic tastes. 
New York: George Munro. — Home 
Journal. 

The New York Fashion Bazar, with 
supplement, is one of the most inter- 
esting and ornamental periodicals that 
have reached the Herald office. It is 
issued by the publisher of the Fireside 
Companion and Seaside Library . — 
Chicago Herald. 

The New York Fashion Bazar, pub- 
lished by George Munro, for this month, 
is a marvel of beauty and excellence. 
It is full of entertaining reading, and 
of the newest and most fashionable 
patterns and designs. It must be seen 
to be appreciated .— Church Press. 

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